


The Visitor

by GravityAlwaysWins



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Addiction, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityAlwaysWins/pseuds/GravityAlwaysWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post 5x13 fic.  Blake has been living with Ted quite happily for just over a year.  On a special night, everything is going exceedingly well - until a knock at the door changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visitor

“Black or blue?” Blake asked, holding up a tie of either color in each hand.

An early start began this Friday morning in mid-September 2007. Blake had been living with Ted in his small, but neatly kept one-bedroom flat for just over a year, having settled in quite happily together shortly after reuniting on Ted’s birthday. Ted still worked for Brian as the head accountant at Kinnetic, and Blake continued his work as a counselor at the rehab facility where both he and Ted had found their way to sobriety.

He hadn’t been a counselor long, but he had managed to make quite an impression in a short period of time. He was well-liked by the patients and the staff; and for the first time, his history of addiction was an asset rather than a shameful burden. As a counselor, it was important to be relatable and accessible, so ties were not a part of Blake’s usual wardrobe - jeans and a crisp button down shirt usually did the trick. But today was special. Today Blake would present his proposal for a new program he was hoping to implement at the rehab center. 

As a patient, he had struggled during the transition from in-patient to out-patient treatment. Then, as a counselor, he watched Ted struggle in the same way, as he worked to re-adjust to the outside world. Blake knew all too well that after a while rehab could feel like a cocoon, like a safe place where you could hide from and ignore the troubles of “real life”. 

Now he was seeing far too many people leave the facility only to return weeks, or even days later, seemingly unable to cope with the life outside the center. He hoped his new program would help prepare patients for the transition, easing them back into their lives rather than simply shoving them out the door. Unfortunately, this meant standing in front of several board members and convincing them that his program was both necessary and affordable. As a rookie counselor, he would need to be taken seriously. This meant suiting up.

“You do realize I’m probably not the best person to be giving out fashion advice?” Ted asked, sitting slumped over on the edge of their bed and rubbing his eyes.

“Aren’t you forgetting that you’re the one who helped me pick out my very first suit?”

A slight grin crossed Ted’s face as the memory sprang to his mind. “Still, either one will look fantastic. You know it will” Ted assured him.

Blake sighed light-heartedly and rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to flatter me. It’s working, but stop” he said, a cheeky smile springing to his face as he grabbed Ted’s hand and pulled him off the bed. “Black or blue? C’mon.”

Ted stood before him, doing his best to fain interest in those tiny pieces of coloured fabric. “Uh…Blue!” he said, taking the corresponding tie from Blake’s left hand. “It matches your eyes.” He secretly loved the way any time there was a shade of blue near Blake’s face -a tie, a shirt, a scarf- his eyes would light up and shimmer like sapphires. 

Blake simply batted his lashes in response - that same cheeky grin still plastered on his face. Ted couldn’t help but chuckle at his youthful exuberance. He was grateful, if slightly amazed, that although nearly thirty, Blake still possessed such a cheerful spirit. Ted lifted the blue tie in his right hand and placed it around his partner’s slender neck.

Blake was going to protest. He was going to say something about how he was fully capable of tying his own tie, of dressing himself, but he decided to let Ted continue. It was nice to see him smile so early in morning.

“There” Ted said, fiddling with the tie, picking at every detail until it was just right. 

“See?” he said, turning Blake to face the large mirror which sat to the left of their bed. “You could stop traffic with those eyes!”

“Think that’ll impress the board members?”, Blake asked playfully.

“Sure it will.”

“Not if I’m late” Blake countered, glancing down at his watch. “Jacket, jacket, jacket”, he repeated under his breath as he began to scour the closet for the top half of his suit.

“It’s 6:00am!”, Ted exclaimed. “You’re not going to be late.”

“Ah, there it is” Blake said with a relieved sigh, ignoring Ted’s comment about the time as he rushed to put his arms through the sleeves.

“Whoa, slow down! Breathe. I’m the neurotic one, remember?” Ted quipped, trying his best to calm Blake’s nerves; although there was a tiny part of him that enjoyed the sudden role reversal. 

Blake smiled and took in a big breath as Ted suggested. He turned to stare at himself one final time in mirror. “Here goes nothing”, he lamented.

“You’ll do great”, Ted said confidently as Blake reached for his briefcase. “You have everything you need?”

“Mmhm, I packed everything last night” Blake revealed, tapping his briefcase with his left hand as he held it in his right.

Ted briefly lowered his head and smiled just slightly. “You sure I can’t drive you?” he asked tentatively, getting up from the bed and peering out the window to inspect the weather.

“No, no. You need the car more than I do. It’s only a ten minute walk for me. Besides, I need the fresh air to clear my head a bit.”

“Alright” Ted replied, sighing and throwing his hands in the air as if to signal surrender. He knew this was not the time to argue. “I’ll pick you up at five then?”

“Sounds good. Okay, now I actually have to go or I really will be late” Blake said, before swiftly exiting the bedroom.

“Hey!” Ted called out, racing after Blake and grabbing his hand before he leapt out the front door. He pulled him in close, until their foreheads touched. “I mean it. You’ll do great - better than great.” 

Blake nuzzled his forehead into Ted’s, breathing in deeply, doing his best to absorb the steadiness and serenity of the moment. There was time he have questioned Ted’s seemingly unshakable belief, but over time he had grown to trust it, and to draw strength from it. He lifted his forehead from Ted’s and looked him in the eyes with a bashful, yet deeply appreciative smile. “Love you” he said warmly, still smiling. 

Ted kissed him lightly on the lips. “Love you too”, he replied, giving Blake’s forearm a gentle squeeze.

With that, Blake headed out the door and started down the long hallway towards the elevator. Ted stood just outside the door, watching his partner proudly. Once at the end of the hall, Blake pushed the elevator button multiple times as it had a tendency to stick.

As he disappeared into the elevator, Ted re-entered the now vacant apartment. He closed the door and paused, smiling to himself as he often did when he thought of just how far Blake had come. 

______________

It was 4:50pm. Ted pulled into the parking lot of the rehab center to see a beautiful blond man in a suit waiting for him. As the car came to a stop at the curb, Ted reached over to the passenger side door and pushed it open. “You didn’t have to wait outside. I would have come in to get you” he called out to Blake, who stood a few feet away from the car.

“It’s okay” Blake assured, making his way to the car and putting his hand on top of the door frame. “I finished a little earlier than I thought I would, and it looked nice out. So I thought I would just wait out here.”

Blake got into the car, threw his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “You have no idea how happy I am that that’s over!” He exclaimed, with a deep sigh of relief.

Ted starred over at him and smiled, remaining silent. Soon Blake opened his eyes, caught off guard by the sudden quietness. “What?” he asked, looking over at Ted with a puzzled expression.

“Well…aren’t you going to tell me how it went? Did you stop any traffic?” Ted inquired.

“Oh yeah! Sorry”, Blake said with a laugh. He’d become so wrapped up in his own sense of relief that he’d forgotten how eager Ted would be to hear all the gory details. “I won’t know their final answer until next week, but they seemed to like the idea.”

“Seemed to like the idea?” Ted prodded, rolling his eyes at Blake’s modesty.

“I just don’t want to be too confident. I’m still a rookie in their books. So you never know” Blake said with slightly worried, yet bashful grin. “Oh! And before I forget - thank you for all your help with the budget side of everything. Seriously, if this thing goes through, it’ll be because of you. Lord knows all the board members really care about is money.”

“No need to thank me” Ted said, placing his hand on Blake’s left shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “To be honest, it was probably the one time I’ve actually enjoyed number crunching.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess it helps to have a worthy cause.” Ted said cheerfully.

“Still though, I know it was a ton of work.” Blake countered, placing his own hand over Ted’s, which still rested atop his shoulder. “Speaking of which, how was your day?”

“Oh you know, same old, same old. Numbers, fetching Brian coffee, more numbers, Brian carrying on about his supposedly fabulous nights out, more numbers…”

“Well, he’d be lost without you, that’s for sure” Blake said reassuringly. 

Both men paused and smiled appreciatively, taking a moment to fasten their seatbelts.

“Man, I am starving!” Blake declared, finally feeling relaxed enough to listen to the rumbles of his stomach.

“Why don’t we go somewhere? My treat. Brian’s always going on about this new Thai place.”

“No, no - save your money. Besides, if we don’t eat that salmon in the fridge, it’ll go bad. So we can have that, and maybe I’ll whip up some roasted potatoes and a salad or something. Nothing fancy.”

“You really want to go home and cook after all that?” Ted said with a concerned look. “I mean, I’d offer to be the chef, but I don’t think we’d end up with much of a dinner.”

“It’s fine”, Blake said with a laugh. “Honestly. Cooking relaxes me and we’d just end up waiting hours at a restaurant anyway.”

“Alright” Ted said with a sigh. “Can I at least do the dishes and set the table?”

“That you can do!”

___________

Blake entered their apartment first, followed closely by Ted. 

“I am starving!” Blake declared, removing his suit jacket and hanging it in the closet. “I better get the salmon ready to go”

“You’re not even going to change first?”

“I will”, Blake assured. “Just let me get the prepping done, and I’ll change while everything’s cooking. It’ll be faster”

“We can still go out if you want” Ted insisted, feeling guilty that his partner had just stepped in the door and was already back at work. 

“Would you stop. It’s fine. Really” Blake said earnestly, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt to avoid getting them dirty.

“I guess I’ll get started on the table setting then”, Ted said, grabbing some cutlery from the drawer next to Blake and kissing him lightly on the cheek before making his way to the dining table across the room.

Blake grabbed the salmon fillet and a bag of potatoes from the fridge, pausing briefly to watch Ted as he ever so meticulously set the table. He made an art of it, ensuring everything was placed in exactly the right spot.

“I swear you could set the table for The Queen and she wouldn’t be disappointed” Blake called out from across the room, his face full of joy and admiration.

Ted laughed heartily. “Why thank you, kind sir” he quipped in a horrifically bad British accent.

A knock at the door.

“Well, what do you know, that must be her now!” Ted joked, glancing over at Blake who still appeared highly amused by his abysmal attempt at imitating British royalty.

“Can you get that?” Blake asked with a chuckle. “My hands are all fishy.”

“Sure” Ted replied, carefully placing the last piece of cutlery on the table and hurrying to the door. 

He opened the door to see a scruffy, middle-aged man staring back at him. He was adorned in a heavily worn denim jacket and jeans. 

“Can I help you?” Ted asked politely, though he fully expected to hear the familiar ramblings of an eager salesman.

The man gazed carefully at Ted. “I’m looking for my son”, he said somewhat bluntly.

“Your… son?” Ted asked, pausing between words, deeply puzzled as he gave the man before him a similar once over. He looked carefully at the scruffy man who stood before him, searching for any similarity between him and the beautiful blond who stood washing his hands in the kitchen sink. 

Physically, there was little to connect the two. The man’s face was weathered and aged, and his hair was thin and greying. His eyes were deep brown, not at all like the blue ones that so often lit up his partner’s youthful face. His pants were held up by a thick belt with a large, imposing buckle that sat just below his protruding stomach. 

However, there was one striking similarity. The denim jacket that adorned his upper body was nearly an exact replica of the one Blake wore throughout the beginning of their relationship.

Ted compared the two jackets in his mind, taking a moment to steady himself before he spoke. “Blake?” he asked nervously, still sure that the man had simply made is way to the wrong apartment.

“Yeah?” Blake said, as he dried his hands and made his way to the door, thinking Ted was calling him over.

“That’s him” the man said, gesturing in Ted’s direction with his right hand.

Ted quickly turned to see Blake who now stood frozen in place a few feet behind him.

The tension between father and son was palpable, but Ted soon interrupted with his relentless hospitality. “Oh! Wow. I mean… I didn’t know…I mean…it’s great to meet you!”, Ted stuttered. He paused for a moment, realizing he didn’t even know the man’s first name. “Mr. Wyzecki”.

Ted wanted to say something more hospitable, more welcoming – like “Oh, Blake has told me so much about you”. But the truth was, Blake rarely ever mentioned his family.

“Walt” the man said, revealing his first name.

“Walt”, Ted repeated with an overly enthusiastic smile. “Well, come on in!”

“How did you find me?” Blake interjected as his father entered the apartment.

Walt paid little attention to his son’s question, instead looking around the place both Ted and Blake called home. 

Rather than press for an answer, Blake retreated back to the comfort of the kitchen and the meal he had been preparing. But the flat’s open concept design provided little in the way of privacy or solitude. What he longed for was an escape, but for now it seemed all three of them were doomed to be contained in the same space.

“Have a seat. Can I get you something?” Ted asked, bursting with a nervous, fluttery energy as he made his way toward the fridge. “Neither of us drink, so I’m afraid all we’ve got to offer is water, milk, coffee, tea – oh and there may be a stray can of ginger ale hiding in here somewhere.”

“Coffee.” Walt replied distractedly, still standing and gazing from the floorboards to the ceiling.

“Sure. Um, milk, cream, sugar?”

“Black.”

“Oh, okay. Well that’s easy.” Ted said, flicking on the coffee maker “My father likes his the same way” he added, hoping to find a common thread between them that would help break the ice.

But Walt didn’t respond, he just kept gazing around the room. 

“Please, have a seat” Ted insisted, hurrying over to the table to clear off a few books and papers that cluttered its surface. “Sorry about the mess” he said, turning to look at Walt who had taken a seat on the chair in the far left corner of the room. 

“We weren’t really expecting company”. Ted cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth. “Not that…I mean…it’s wonderful to have your company”, he said, tripping over his words as he attempted to correct what he deemed an inhospitable blunder.

“Oh and you’re welcome to stay for dinner!” Ted exclaimed, cursing himself again that he had failed to make the offer sooner. “We’re having salmon tonight and there’s plenty to go around. Your son is quite the cook!” he said, pausing to look over at Blake who busied himself slicing potatoes. Ted waited for Blake to say something, anything at all, but he remained silent, his eyes focused intently on the cutting board in front of him. 

“Yes well, he always did have a…feminine touch” Walt quipped, picking at his fingernails with a self-satisfied grin.

The comment sent the knife in Blake’s right hand crashing to tiles beneath his feet; the simmering tension within him bubbling to the surface as he heard the cynical, repulsed tone in his father’s voice. A brief silence followed, as Blake scurried to pick up the knife and regain his composure while Ted looked on. The two shared a moment of mutual relief from across the room when the unbearable quietness was replaced by the beeping of the coffee maker signaling a fresh pot.

“That must be your coffee” Ted said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice as he swallowed nervously before making his way to the kitchen. Seeing that the coffee was indeed done, Ted reached to grab a mug from the cupboard above the stove. He filled it nearly to the brim, needing no room for milk, cream, or sugar. He left the mug of steaming liquid on the counter for a moment, turning his attention to Blake. “You alright?” he whispered, placing a supportive hand on his lower back.

Though Walt could not hear the verbal exchange between the two men, the physical contact between them had not gone unnoticed as he peered up from picking at his fingernails. 

“I’m fine.” Blake responded, nodding his head and forcing a slight closed-mouthed smile. 

Ted smiled back softly and removed his hand from the small of Blake’s back. “Mmm. Smells great!” he exclaimed, ensuring his voice would be loud enough for Walt to hear as he collected the mug from the counter and walked across the apartment to the living room. “Careful, it’s still pretty hot”, he cautioned. 

Walt said nothing, and took a miniscule sip of the piping hot liquid before placing it on the table in front of him.

The room fell silent once more – Blake still focused intently on dinner preparations, Ted immersed and nearly drowning in awkwardness, and Walt busy picking at his nails once again.

Then, much to everyone’s surprise, it was Walt who broke the silence. “Nice place you got here”, he said.

From across the room, Blake grimaced at his father’s words– ‘nice place’ – the same words he had uttered nearly seven years ago upon entering Ted’s apartment for the first time.

“Thank you” Ted replied earnestly. “It’s not much, really - but it’s home.”

Walt nodded slowly in response. “So…Ted was it?”

“Yes - Theodore, Ted, Teddy. Any of those are fine”, he said with a smile, elated that Blake’s father was beginning to show a bit of interest.

“What do you do?” Walt asked.

“Me? I’m an accountant. Not too exciting, I know. I manage the books for Kinnetic” Ted replied, clearing his throat, as he noticed a slight look of confusion cross Walt’s face. “It’s a marketing firm in the city”, he clarified.

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. I’m just lucky, really. The owner’s a friend of mine – a friend of ours, I should say” Ted replied, looking towards Blake, hoping to get his partner involved in the conversation. “But I’d say out of the two of us, Blake has the more exciting occupation”, he continued, with light-hearted chuckle.

“Ah yes. Mister Miracle worker”, Walt said in a flat voice, peppered with sarcasm

“You should be very proud. Your son’s really quite remarkable at what he does” Ted said, smiling over at Blake. 

“Is that so?” Walt asked.

“Absolutely! Unfortunately, he’s also quite modest” Ted replied, in an attempt to excuse Blake’s unusual silence.

“Actually”, Ted continued. “Today was kind of a special day. He presented his plan for a new rehabilitation program to a bunch of board members. It seems to have gone really well.”

Ted looked at Blake, then at Walt, expecting some sort of enthusiastic response, or at the very least a bit of fatherly pride in his eyes, but there was neither. Walt simply nodded, saying nothing as he forced a half-hearted smile.

“So, how about yourself?” Ted asked, deliberately changing the direction the conversation was headed, yet feeling unsure as he caught a glimpse of the less than thrilled expression on Walt’s face. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Blake had mentioned that both of his parents worked so I just-“

“Did he?” Walt retorted, rising to his feet once more, before removing his denim jacket and tossing it on the chair. “Well go on Blakey” he said, moving toward the kitchen. “How about you tell Ted here what your dear old dad does for living?”

Blake let out a heavy sigh, not of embarrassment but of disinterest, as he heard the familiar confrontational tone creep into his father’s voice.

“He works at Tulsen’s. It’s a meat packaging plant.” He said calmly, keeping his eyes fixed on the cutting board as he continued slicing potatoes. 

“Oh, really? Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone in that line of work before” Ted said earnestly, glancing between Blake and Walt from a few feet away.

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Walt replied flatly.

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re not vegetarians, huh?” Ted joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Yes well, we can’t all be accountants and miracle workers, can we?” Walt replied flatly.

“Thank God. What a boring world that would be” Ted quickly countered, hoping his previous remarks had come off as non-judgemental as he had intended. “And as my father always says, there’s no shame in earning an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work.”

“Hear that?” Walt said, looking toward his son.

“You know I don’t have a problem with where you work. I never have.” Blake said confidently, though he was beginning to lose patience. 

“Really?” Walt insisted.

“Yes. Really.” Blake said sternly. “So if you’ve just come here to pick a fight. You should know, I’m not interested.”

“Then what’s this?” Walt asked, removing an opened envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and tossing it on the kitchen counter.

“Looks like an envelope to me” Blake retorted flatly.

Walt gave his son a cunning smile. “Let’s just see, shall we?” 

He proceeded to remove a neatly folded piece of paper from the envelope. He wasted no time unfolding it and began reading – “Dear mom…”

Blake felt his heart sink deep into his stomach. “Where did you find that?”

“Dear mom…” Walt repeated, once again ignoring his son’s plea for information.

I hope you and the kids are well. I spoke to Jenny the other day. She said nursing school is going well and she said to tell you she loves you, as do I.

Since I know you tend to worry, I want you to know that you don’t have to. I’m happy for the first time in a long, long time. Ted is amazing! I’m so lucky to have him. I would love for you to meet him someday. I know you would adore him just as much as I do.

Please take what I have enclosed. Don’t even think about sending it back. It’s yours. I know I can trust you to use it wisely.

Be sure to give the kids a hug for me.

And remember, if you ever need anything - don’t be afraid to call.

Lots of love,

Blake

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? Can’t even be bothered to mention your dear old dad, can you?” Walt said, crumpling the letter and veiling his anger in thick sarcasm. 

Blake did his best to veil his own emotions, determined not to sink to his father’s level of depravity. He continued staring at the cutting board before him as his eyes began to fill with a mixture of fury and sadness. 

Not satisfied with his son’s demure reaction, Walt continued as if on some happy tirade. “And the best part is, look what’s inside!” he exclaimed, removing a large stack of money from the confines of the envelope and slamming it down on the counter that stood between him and his son.

The sudden, thunderous thud of his curled fist colliding with the granite was enough to make both Ted and Blake jump.

“You know, it’s funny. On the way here I kept thinking – how in the hell did my son get his hands on all this money? But now it all makes sense. It’s quite the plan really. Find some well off guy, weasel your way into his life and take-take-take. But I mean honestly, couldn’t you have found someone a little…younger? Don’t tell me you actually sleep with him!” Walt said with a laugh, his voice filled with repulsion as he glanced over at Ted, who stood in stunned silence halfway between the living room and the kitchen. 

Walt returned his gaze to his son. “Unless…this is how he repays you?” he sneered, running his fingers over the money.

Suddenly, Blake’s eyes shot up and he glared at his father with a burning fury. “How dare you. How fucking dare you” he said in low, deceptively composed voice. He inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his frayed nerves and regain his composure, but the fresh flow of oxygen to his lungs only served to embolden him. Still, he was careful to keep his voice low.

“Okay one - yes, I do sleep with him and I love it, and believe me, he would never have to pay. Two – this is my money, and I earned it so I’ll do what I want with it. Three – you can treat me however you want to, I really don’t care. I put up with your shit for seventeen years - but you see that man there?” he said, gesturing towards Ted, “That’s the man that saved your son’s life when you were too drunk to stand up and be a father.”

Blake paused, his voice breaking as he was forced to utter that final word - ‘father’ – a word he had avoided using for years, a word he had no reason to use, a word that still felt indefinable and foreign as it sprang from his mouth. 

“That…” Blake continued, gesturing forcefully towards Ted once more. “…is the man I love. So I suggest you show him a little respect.”

Walt rolled his eyes. “Respect!” he belted, his voice much louder than his son’s. “Well, while we’re on the subject, why don’t you show me a little respect and tell me what exactly is going on here?”

“There’s nothing going on here” Blake said, working hard to regain the air of calmness in his voice.

“Clearly, there is.” Walt said sternly, glancing toward the stack of money still sitting on the counter.

Blake sighed heavily. “I was just trying to help out.”

“Help your mother out”, Walt corrected.

“Help my family out”, Blake said firmly.

“So I’m not a not a part of your family then?” Walt asked, combatively.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Sure sounded like it” Walt snorted. “So…what? You just thought you’d go behind my back and start giving handouts.”

“It’s not a handout. And it’s not charity, or whatever you think it is.” Blake insisted. “I just wanted her to have it, that’s all.”

“Your mother.” Walt correct once more. “You wanted your mother to have it.”

“Yes” Blake said with confidence. “Why is that so wrong?”

“Maybe because you didn’t bother to tell me, that’s why!”

“Maybe because I knew this is how you’d react. Maybe because she deserves it. Maybe because I can trust her to do the right thing.”

“So you don’t trust me?” Walt asked. “And what’s that supposed to mean –‘do the right thing’?”

“I knew that if I sent it to her, she’d use it wisely. She’d make sure there was food on the table, hot water in the pipes. She’d spend it on the family – and yes, that includes you”.

“But you wouldn’t send it to me?”

“I didn’t think you’d take it. And I knew if you did…” Blake said, before stopping himself mid-sentence.

“Go on. Say it” Walt urged. “You knew if I did…what?”

“…most of it would end up in the till at the bar” Blake admitted.

“Ah yes, because I’m the selfish drunk who spends his days at the bar” Walt said sheepishly.

“Well, judging by the way you’re acting right now, I’m guessing that’s where you were earlier tonight.”

Walt suppressed his rage with a sly, disingenuous smile, choosing to ignore his son’s correct assumption about his whereabouts earlier that evening.

“Kind of ironic, isn’t it? - you lecturing me about drinking” Walt taunted. “Wasn’t too long ago this kind of cash would be going right up your nose, remember?”

Blake remained silent, his gaze retuning to the cutting board and partially sliced potatoes in front of him. He remembered quite clearly.

“Who knows, maybe it still is?” Walt prodded.

“Well, I can assure you, it’s not.” Blake said firmly, determined not to let his father’s taunting wind him up any further. 

“Oh yes, I forgot. You’re Mister Miracle worker now. But you’re no angel, Blakey” Walt snickered, moving closer to his son. “And you’re one to talk about ‘doing the right thing’. Let’s not forget, you left this family! You ran! Do you know how much you hurt your mother? She cried for weeks after you left. Weeks! And the kids, every one of them suddenly wondering where their big brother disappeared to. Why he couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye. So no, you don’t get to swoop back in now and be a hero. Not when I’ve worked every day of my goddamn life to a support a family you couldn’t care less about!”

“I do care!” Blake barked, reacting without thought. “And I was more of a father to those kids than you ever were!” 

Blake instantly regretted raising his voice. As much of a stranger as his father had become, he knew the type of rage that bubbled just below the surface. 

In an instant, Walt shoved his son up against the sink, the force causing Blake’s elbow to collide with a stack of clean dishes that had been left to dry in a rack on the counter behind him. Blake winced as the squared edge of the granite countertop dug into his lower back while the dishes crashed loudly into the stainless steel basin. 

The noise did not faze Walt, who grabbed tight hold of his son’s tie and pulled down and forward forcefully, attempting to dwarf him by any means necessary. By this time, a deeply concerned Ted had hurried to the kitchen, and now stood a foot behind Walt, keeping a close eye on Blake’s expression, unsure of what to do next.

“You listen here!” Walt raged between gritted teeth, pulling harder on Blake’s tie as he spoke, bringing his son’s face closer and closer to his own. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Well you know what? You can keep your money and your glorious dinner! It’s all lie! Everything. Because I know the truth. I know my own son. And this isn’t you. Not even close. So you can play house all you want. You can put on this fancy suit and this fancy tie and go to your fancy job. But the truth is, you’re really just like me. And all this - it’s all pretend. It won’t last. Because people like us, they don’t change. Ever.”

With that, Ted had had enough of Walt’s tirade, and although he typically avoided confrontation at all cost, the look of anguish on Blake’s face gave him the push he needed to intervene. “Look, Mr. Wyzecki, I think you’d better leave” he said firmly, moving forward, placing one hand against Walt’s shoulder and the other on the arm that still pulled viciously on Blake’s tie. A brief but tense silence filled the air as Walt peered into his son’s blue eyes with a chilling intensity, ignoring the voice that pleaded with him to leave. “Now!” Ted added more forcefully.

Finally, Walt relented, stepping back and freeing the blue tie from his relentless grip, leaving it crinkled and dangling from the neck of his now thoroughly tormented son. “Oh don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on staying!” he barked, heading across to the living room to fetch his denim jacket, as Ted followed closely behind.

He lifted his jacket from the the chair where he had been sitting and headed for the door, as Ted and Blake looked on, their eyes fixed to him as he finally excited their apartment. Both men stood motionless for moment, Ted near the door and Blake still with his back to the kitchen sink. 

Soon, a sound broke through the silence and Ted turned just in time to see Blake disappear into the bathroom. “Blake?” he called out with heavy sigh. He stood there frozen a moment longer, before quickly coming to the realization that there was something he had to do. He headed out the door and into the long, narrow hallway now desperate to speak to the man he’d just asked to leave.

“Mr. Wyzecki!” Ted called out, to no avail. “Walt!” he exclaimed, catching up to the denim covered man who sluggishly made his way to the elevator at the end of the corridor. 

“Look” Ted began, a little out of breath as he stepped in front of Walt. “How are you getting home?”

“Huh?” Walt grunted.

“Home. How are you getting there?”

“That’s none of your Goddamn business” Walt said sharply.

“You’re right. It’s not”, Ted admitted.

Walt rolled his eyes and moved around Ted, reaching for the elevator button.

“But…” Ted began, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his wallet, pulling out a few bills. “Just take this. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Are you kidding me? Did you not hear anything I just said in there? I don’t want handouts!”

“Believe me, I heard it all”, Ted revealed. “But I can assure you, this is my money, not Blake’s. And I know he’d probably never speak to me again if he knew what I was doing out here right now. But I also know that, deep down, he loves you. You’re the only father he’s got, and if you never make it home tonight, he’d hate himself forever. So I’m not doing this for you; I’m doing it for him. And if you love him as much as I do, as much as you should, then you’ll take it and let me call you a cab” Ted said firmly, holding the money out in his right hand.

He fully expected to be yelled at and perhaps threatened, but instead Walt slowly took the money from his hand, never lifting his head high enough to make eye contact. Ted was sure he saw a fleeting hint of remorse cross Walt’s face as he shoved the bills into the back pocket of his jeans. 

Walt remained silent while Ted called for a cab, facing the elevator which arrived just as Ted hung up his cell phone. As he entered it, Ted left him with one final message in a voice deepened by sadness: “You know, I hope one day you realize what an incredible son you have.”

With that, the elevator doors closed and the inebriated man was whisked down to the lobby.


	2. "Nice"

Ted re-entered his apartment only to find Blake had emerged from the bathroom and was now standing in the kitchen, lifting pieces of broken plates from the sink. He suddenly felt unsure as he sensed the atmosphere of tension had not fully vanished with Walt’s exit. 

“Blake?” he said cautiously. “Listen, sorry I ran off like that. I just wanted to make sure he got down the elevator alright. You know how that button sticks.”

Receiving no reply, he slowly made his way to his partner’s side. “Here. Let me do that” he said quietly over Blake’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it” Blake replied, forcing a smile.

“You really don’t have to-

“I’m sorry about your dishes. I’ll replace them.” Blake said softly, though his voice was nearly robotic.

“They’re our dishes not mine” Ted reminded him. “Besides, I never liked them much anyway.”

Blake ignored his comments and continued clearing the shattered dishes from the sink, placing the pieces in a large green garbage bag.

“Blake, you really don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Look, I don’t care about the dishes. Are you alright?“ Ted asked with concern.

Blake ignored him once more. “Here, did you want to finish setting the table. I think we still need some forks. I’ve got to put this in the oven” he said, looking towards the pan of sliced potatoes he planned to roast.

Ted opened his mouth to speak, but closed it promptly as Blake gave him a shy closed-mouthed smile. He took the cutlery from Blake’s hand and did as he asked, placing the forks alongside the two plates that had escaped the fate of those lying in the sink.

Once his task was complete, he made his way back to the kitchen where Blake busied himself moving between cupboards and drawers.

“What are you looking for?” he asked hesitantly.

“I can’t find the oven mitts.”

Ted looked around the kitchen, soon spotting them the red and white mitts sitting in plain sight atop the counter beside the stove. 

“Here” he said, presenting them to Blake with a gentle smile.

Blake took them from his hand, making no eye contact as he did. “Oh here, can to put this on the table?” he added, passing him a bottle of salad dressing before turning to face the sink once more.

Ted took the salad dressing, glanced down at it for a moment and then returned his gaze to Blake. He set the dressing on the counter next to him and sighed deeply. “Look, would you please just talk to me? Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you did he?” Ted asked, placing a hand on Blake’s left shoulder.

Blake put the broken dish he was holding back into the sink before turning around, causing Ted’s hand to fall from his shoulder. “I told you, I’m fine”, he said firmly.

Ted reached to touch Blake’s face, but Blake grabbed hold of his hand before it made contact and returned it to his side. “Just …thank you for being concerned, okay? But you don’t need to be.”

Blake grabbed the salad dressing from the counter. “I know this is all a little new to you, but like I said, I put up with him for seventeen years, okay? This is nothing new to me”, he said calmly, moving past Ted and as he headed towards the table.

“That doesn’t make it right” Ted said, now staring at his partner’s back. “Just…”

“What?” Blake asked, with his back still to Ted as he placed the dressing in the center of the table. “I’ve got dishes to clean up, dinner to make…”

“The dishes can wait and so can dinner. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, I promise”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Because I saw that look on your face a few minutes ago, so don’t keep telling me you’re ‘fine’”

Blake sighed heavily and turned towards Ted. “Look, we’ve both had a long day, so why don’t we just forget this ever happened and have dinner like we planned, okay?” he said, smiling slightly as he brushed past Ted and moved towards the kitchen.

“Why are you running from me?”

The question stopped Blake in his tracks, as equal amounts of anger and hurt bubbled beneath his skin.

Ted closed his eyes, immediately wishing he could take back what he’d said. He grimaced, cursing himself for accusing Blake of the very thing his father had accused him of only moments ago – running. 

“I’m sorry” he lamented, his eyes still closed. “I didn’t mean that. You know I’m no good with words. I just mean…it’s okay to let me in. I’m not going anywhere. He hasn’t scared me away, if that’s what you’re thinking”

“You looked pretty scared to me” Blake retorted, a little more forcefully than he had intended, as the sting of Ted’s accusation still ruminated within him.

“I was just shocked, that’s all” Ted admitted. “That anyone could treat you that way…that anyone would ever want to” he added softly, taking a step towards Blake.

“Believe me, that was pretty tame for him. You’re just lucky he didn’t get his hands on one of these” Blake said almost jokingly, grabbing hold of the knife he had been using to slice potatoes and raising it in the air.

“Blake…”

“What?”, Blake asked plainly, placing the knife back down on the counter.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to scare me away. It won’t work” Ted said, placing his hand on Blake’s shoulder once more, before it was quickly shrugged off.

“Ted, please don’t, okay?”

Ted sighed heavily. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” Ted asked desperately.

“Because I don’t want to be that kid again, okay?” Blake snapped. “Not the kid he pushes around, not the kid who wakes up in hospitals - in crack houses, not the kid who needs to be coddled and looked after. I swore to myself I would never be him again. All I want to do is get as far away from that life as possible.”

“And you have.”, Ted reassured.

“Mister Miracle worker” Blake retorted, repeating his father’s words with a bitter, deflated sarcasm.

“You are a miracle worker!” Ted insisted, but Blake simply scoffed at his remark, turning his back to him once again.

“I’m serious” Ted insisted. “That’s the one accurate thing he said the whole time he was here. You’re always there to put everyone back together when they fall apart, including me. Only sometimes I think you forget that even miracle workers get to fall apart once in a while.”

“Not everyone” Blake murmured.

“What?”

“A substance abuse counsellor with an alcoholic father, doesn’t that seem a little odd to you?” Blake asked, turning to face Ted.

“Please don’t tell me you actually blame yourself for the way he is” Ted said in disbelief.

“Not entirely, no. But if was such a miracle worker, then he wouldn’t still be the way he is.”

“The way he is has nothing to do with you. You’re nothing like him. He was dead wrong about that.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I am sure”, Ted said firmly. “Look, what you’ve managed to accomplish is beyond incredible. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t beam with pride when I watch you walk out the door in the morning, or when I lay down beside you at night.”

Blake paused, lowering his head and biting his lip as he reluctantly took in Ted’s words. “This is crazy!” he yelled out, causing a baffled expression to appear on Ted’s face.

“You should be furious, okay? Just stop being so nice!” he added, the words flowing from his mouth like venom.

Ted stood there, baffled in a brief moment of silence.

Blake inhaled deeply as if to steady himself. “Because of me, a man you don’t even know just came into your home, unannounced, insulted you, broke your dishes….”

“Because of you?”

“I am his son, after all. It’s not like he came here looking for you.”

“It doesn’t matter” Ted said.

“It does” Blake said forcefully, growing more and more frustrated with each passing second.

“It doesn’t.” Ted countered firmly.

Blake rolled his eyes and turned away from Ted, who despite his wishes, continued on rampage of niceness.

“Look, you really think I’m going to worry about a few broken plates right now? Besides, we’ve still got two perfectly good ones sitting on the table.”

Blake glanced over his shoulder at the immaculately set table. “You know what? I’m not even hungry. I just want to take off this ridiculous suit and get some sleep!” he said, throwing his hands in the air.

He moved towards the bedroom, beginning to remove his tie as he walked with Ted trailing closely behind.

“Ted, would you please stop following me! I’m f-“

“’Fine’, I know” Ted interrupted.

Blake stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to Ted. “What do you want?” he asked angrily, spinning to face Ted as he wrestled with the knot at the base of neck.

“Just…tell me how you’re really feeling? 

“How I’m feeling?” Blake asked combatively.

“Yes.” Ted pleaded. “Something beyond ‘I’m fine’.”

“Alright. You want to know how I’m feeling?” Blake barked. “I feel frustrated! I feel trapped! I feel betrayed! I feel exposed! I feel angry at him! I feel angry at myself…” Blake paused, his face reddened and his voice cracking with emotion as he spoke. 

“There! Is that what you’re looking for? You know all my secrets. Happy now?” he raged, still struggling to remove his tie. “Maybe you’re the one who should be running!”

Ted let out a heavy sigh as Blake’s words sent his heart plummeting to his stomach. “I already told you” he said softly, taking a step forward. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Blake was now furiously pulling at his tie, his hand trembling with anger and unable to free the knot which had tightened with his father’s tugging. Ted moved closer, his eyes filling with sadness as he watched Blake struggle and yank at his tie. Without stopping to think, he reached out and put his hand over Blake’s as it shook, gently loosening its firm grip on the crinkled blue fabric dangling from his neck. 

Once Blake’s hand was free, Ted began undoing the troublesome knot as an imposing silence filled the room. He slowly removed the tie from around his partner’s slender neck and placed it at the foot of the bed next to him. Blake kept his eyes pointed to the ground, as Ted gazed at him tenderly. Almost immediately, Ted reached forward once more, his hand moving beneath the collar of Blake’s white, button down shirt, and finding its way to the soft skin of his neck. Blake’s breath caught in his throat, as the gentleness and warmth of his partner’s touch began to melt through the anger that had been veiling his inner sorrow. 

Instinctively, Ted began caressing the tender bit of skin beneath his fingers and he moved closer still. But it was Blake who closed the gap between them, his veneer of strength finally crumbling as he succumbed to Ted’s delicate embrace. Within seconds, tears began to fall from his eyes, his hand clinging tightly to a tuft of Ted’s shirt.

Ted closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh as he felt Blake’s fingers curl into his back. Tears formed beneath his eyelids as he began to wonder just how cruel the world had been to the fragile young man in his arms. He encircled him tightly, saddened yet grateful that his emotions were finally being released.

“I’m so sorry”, Blake mumbled into his shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing” Ted whispered gently, his heart sinking further into his stomach.

“The things I said…”

“Shh, it’s okay”

“…and the things he said about you”

“It’s alright” Ted assured him. “And you did a pretty good job defending my honour, if I remember correctly.”

Blake smirked briefly through his tears as he remembered the long, stern spiel he had given his father about respecting the man he loved. 

Moments later, he slowly emerged from Ted’s embrace, looking him in the eyes for the first time since his father left. He smiled appreciatively as he quickly wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks.

“Now” Ted said, breathing a sigh of relief as Blake looked at him. “Are you really not hungry, or were you just saying that?”

“I really am exhausted” Blake lamented, his voice still thick with emotion.

“-because I may not be the best cook in the world, but who knows, I may surprise you. Probably not but-”

“I can finish dinner.”

“You just said you were exhausted.”

“But you must be starving” Blake said with concern.

“Don’t worry about me, or the food” Ted said. “I can put all that stuff in the fridge for tomorrow”

“But…”

“None of it has actually started cooking yet, right? So it’ll be fine in the fridge overnight” Ted insisted.

“What are you going to eat though?” Blake asked, his face still reddened and hid breathing still heavy.

“I’ll just have some cereal or something” Ted assured him.

“Cereal? For dinner? On a Friday night?”

“I happen to love cereal” Ted said with a smile, gently wiping a lingering tear from Blake’s cheek. “And who says a man can’t enjoy a delicious bowl of Cheerios on a Friday night. Plus, I’d say the level of cooking required matches my skill set perfectly.”

“You’re not that bad of a cook, Teddy.”

“Yes, I am” Ted admitted. “But it’s okay, because that’s why we make such a great team. You do the cooking – except for tonight, of course, and I set the table. Fit for a…Queen, was it?”

Blake smiled faintly and nodded.

Ted returned the smile, relieved to see Blake begin to relax.

“Get some sleep” he said, kissing Blake’s forehead. “You deserve it, after all. Impressing the pants off those board members the way you did.”

“I seem to remember them wearing pants” Blake said with a sideways grin.

“Darn!” Ted yelped sarcastically causing Blake to laugh, albeit somewhat weakly.

“Do you need anything before I-“ Ted said, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Blake shook his head and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Get some rest then. I’ll be in in a few minutes” Ted uttered with a gentle smile as he squeezed Blake’s forearm.

Soon, Ted made his way to the kitchen to tidy up - something he did very well. He put the two remaining pieces of plate in the trash as quietly as he could. Then he cleared the table of the cutlery and dishes that had gone unused, before wrapping the uncooked food and somehow squeezing it into the fridge. 

He didn’t pour himself a bowl of Cheerios, or any other cereal for that matter. The truth was, like Blake, the events of that evening left him with no desire to eat. Instead, he looked around for more things to tidy and more messes to clean. Before long, he spotted a mug sitting on the coffee table - Walt’s mug. He had left it there, nearly full, as he argued and taunted his son. It now served as an ominous reminder of his presence, so Ted quickly collected it and emptied its contents into the sink.

As he watched the dark brown liquid spiral down the drain, he began to wonder how any father could harbour that much anger and resentment towards his own flesh and blood – his own son - especially a son as wonderful as Blake. With that thought, Ted turned his back to the sink and leaned into the granite counter top, wanting to see what it must have felt like to be shoved against its squared and pointed edge. He knew it had to hurt, as even the meager force he applied caused the edge to dig uncomfortably into his back. 

Ted closed his eyes, the thought of Blake ever being hurt at the hands of that man almost too much to bear. He wished and hoped with all his might that Blake had been joking about the knife. He had to be. Surely there was no way any father, even one as bitter as Walt, could ever brandish a weapon with the intent of harming one of his own children. No, surely not.

Realising he’d spent more than a few minutes lost in the bleakness of his thoughts, he quickly did a once over of the apartment. Just as he was about to turn off the lights and join Blake for some much needed rest, he saw a crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor - Blake’s letter to his mother, which had been cruelly read aloud for all to hear. He went over and lifted it from the ground, unfurling it to reveal Blake’s neatly handwritten message. His eyes scanned it and soon caught on a particular section. Though he had heard the words before, seeing them written out with Blake’s own hand made them all the more potent. 

“I’m happy for the first time in a long, long time. Ted is amazing! I’m so lucky to have him. I would love for you to meet him someday. I know you would adore him just as much as I do.”

Ted held the letter to his chest, closed his eyes and smiled briefly to himself, hoping that what Blake had written was still true. Part of him wanted to keep the letter forever, in case Blake’s feelings had changed, but he knew it was not his to keep. So he did his best to fold it neatly and placed it atop the stack of money still sitting on the counter.

After surveying the room once more, Ted turned off the lights and went to join his partner in bed. He was grateful to see that Blake had left his bedside light on, ensuring that he wouldn’t trip on his way to bed. He could see Blake curled beneath the covers, his bare shoulders poking through at the top. He was lying on his side, facing the wall, as his tie sat at the foot of the bed where Ted had placed it. 

Though he was relieved to see that Blake had fallen asleep so quickly, the sight of that crinkled piece of fabric sent a pang of sadness through his body. He paused for a moment and gazed at it, before replacing his stuffy work clothes with a baggy t-shirt and boxers. 

As he slowly lifted the covers, the small bit of light in the room was enough to illuminate a large bruise beginning to form on Blake’s lower back. A mixture of sadness and anger coursed through Ted’s body as he slid into bed and turned towards his partner. He stared intently at the mark that bitter man had left behind and reached forward, stopping just short of making contact with his slowly discolouring skin.

“Teddy?” he suddenly heard Blake say. He winced, sure that he had woken Blake from the sleep he wanted and needed. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No” Blake replied faintly.

“Oh” Ted sighed with relief. He rested his head against his pillow and refocused his attention on Blake’s back as the room fell quiet.

Moments later, Blake’s voice broke through the silence. “Teddy?” 

“Yeah” Ted murmured, still staring at his back.

“I love you” he said softly, his voice full of both guilt and sincerity.

Ted inched closer, until his chest pressed lightly against Blake’s back. He reached up and put his hand on Blake’s arm. “I love you too” he whispered earnestly.

Blake took Ted’s hand in his own, pulling it down and around to the front of his body. “And I love that you’re nice” he said, as both of their hands lay softly against his chest.

Ted smiled, his eyes clouding with tears as he gently kissed Blake’s neck. It was a tender thank you and a bittersweet end to a day that had begun with such promise.


	3. A Good Day

Saturday morning. Ted awoke with his arms still draped around his sleeping lover’s torso. Normally, the blond was the early riser of the pair, climbing out of bed to make breakfast well before his partner had even begun to stir. But the events of the previous evening had left him understandably exhausted. 

So Ted carefully removed his arms from around him and slid over to his side of the bed. He sat on the edge, pulling on a pair of blue jeans, then putting on his slippers, which he always left at his bedside, ready to combat the cold of the early morning floors. He fussed with his hair and tossed a baggy, grey, long-sleeve shirt over his head. Next, he fastened his watch to his left wrist and rubbed its face clean with the sleeve on his opposing arm. He got up from the bed slowly, careful not to disturb Blake who was still lost in a deep sleep.

Before exiting the bedroom, he paused in front of the vanity mirror and leaned forward, pulling at the bags underneath his eyes. He could almost hear Walt’s voice in his head: “Couldn’t you have found someone a little younger? Don’t tell me you actually sleep with him!” He sighed, remembering that in a few short weeks, he would be turning forty – that’s right, officially ‘over the hill’ and full decade older than the man with whom he shared his bed. 

He turned away from his reflection and glanced back at Blake for a moment, smiling slightly at the familiar, tightly curled fetal position of his body. He could still remember the first night Blake spent in his bed. Actually, it wasn’t night at all, but morning. They had arrived at Ted’s apartment around 7am on a Sunday, after Blake had finally been discharged from the local hospital. Ted had barely slept, having spent the evening at the blond boy’s bedside, holding his hand, careful not to disturb the tubes and wires that protruded from his skin.

Blake had fallen asleep quickly that morning, still wearing the oversized jeans and t-shirt that Ted had lent him. The blond protested at first, about sleeping in Ted’s bed, assuring him that he would be perfectly happy on the sofa. But Ted insisted, so he pulled the covers right up to his chin and fell asleep within minutes, on his right side, curled in that same fetal position.

Apart from the clothes and the glaring absence of a white hospital band around his wrist, Blake looked the same now as he did then - youthful, almost angelic, as if he was truly at peace. But Ted knew that looks could be deceiving, especially when it came to Blake. The young man was a true master of covering everything that ailed him with an affable, charming smile, making it seem as though he was perfectly together, even when on the inside, he was falling apart.

Ted made his way to the kitchen, deciding that he would at least attempt to make breakfast and relieve his partner of his usual morning duties. He grabbed a frying pan off the hook on the kitchen wall and the cooking oil from the pantry. As he opened the fridge to retrieve a carton of eggs, he spotted the uncooked dinner, which he had wrapped and stored away for tonight – a relic of the events of previous evening and a reminder of what should have been. He grabbed the eggs and hastily shut the fridge door, eager to push that memory from his mind. Today would be a good day, he told himself. It had to be. 

He grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and placed two slices in the toaster, ready and waiting to be browned. He opened the egg carton and paused. Scrambled, he decided. He would make scrambled eggs. But as he grabbed a bowl, he was confronted by yet another relic – the money and the letter Walt had brought to their apartment, like some sort of secret psychological weapon to use against his son. 

Ted pushed that memory aside as well and focused on the task before him. Upon cracking the first egg, a small piece of shell fell into the mix. “Shit”, he cursed at himself before hunting for a utensil to retrieve the shell. He settled on a pair forks and positioned them like tongs, poking and prodding at the egg mixture repeatedly. He had become so intent on removing the pesky piece of shell that he failed to notice Blake, who was now very much awake, standing in the frame of the bedroom door, looking out into the kitchen. 

Blake’s eyelids were heavy as he made his way over to Ted, who was still very much unaware of his presence. He came up behind his right shoulder. “It’s easier if you just use your fingers” he said, startling his lover. 

“Here, see?” He reached over Ted’s shoulder and into the bowl, grabbing the shell and lifting it out in one swift, effortless motion.

“…Oh” Ted was dumfounded at how easily Blake had accomplished what moments ago seemed like an impossible task. “I’ve been trying to get that out of there for the last ten minutes. This was supposed to be a surprise, but I’ve only just started. Nothing’s ready yet.”

“It’s okay. Here, let me…” Blake reached for the fork in Ted’s hand, ready to take over his usual morning routine.

“No, no. I’ll…you just sit” Ted insisted, pointing to the table before turning his attention to the remaining uncracked eggs. 

Blake did as he was told and took a seat at the kitchen table after washing the raw egg off his hands. He watched as Ted went about preparing the rest of the meal. 

Much to Ted’s surprise, he managed to crack the eggs, cook them, and toast the bread without too much trouble. He set two full plates down on the table, one for himself and one for his patient partner.

Blake’s eyes widened as he gazed down at the plethora of food before him. “Wow. I should sleep in more often”

“Yeah, just wait until you taste it. You’ll never sleep in again” Ted quipped.

“We’ll see about that” Blake said, his eyebrow playfully arched. 

Ted watched with bated breath as Blake picked up his fork and took his first bite. 

The young man chewed slowly as if to inspect every morsel. “Nah” he said suddenly, causing Ted’s face to slump into disappointment. “I’m sleeping in from now on.” Just then, his poker face broke into a broad smile.

Ted stared for a moment, cherishing the familiar cheerfulness of Blake’s expression. Perhaps he let his gaze linger a moment too long though, because the blond man’s face soon faltered. 

“What?” Blake asked, a little unsure as to why he’d suddenly become so eye-catching.

“Nothing…It’s just…good to see you smile, that’s all.” Ted’s his eyes were full of warmth. He watched as Blake lowered his head bashfully, smiling once more, though this time, his eyes seemed to fill with a hint of sadness. 

Ted cleared his throat, eager to change the subject and keep the mood light. “So, the weather’s supposed to be nice today. Maybe…you know…maybe you wanna take a walk later?” He grimaced internally at his own question. The weather, really? That was the best he could do?

“Sure” Blake said simply, piling some more food on to his fork. “But I’ve got to get some paper work done first.”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Pretty soon you’re going to be running that place.” Ted smiled brightly, trying to remain light-hearted. Today would be a good day. It had to be. 

“God, I hope not” Blake lamented. “I’d go crazy.”

Ted’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t the cheerful response he was hoping for. “Well, if anybody can do it, you can” he said earnestly, trying to see if he could make that smile reappear. But it didn’t.

As they placed the final morsels of food into their mouths, Ted’s cellphone rang from the bedroom.

“I’ll be right back” Ted said, getting up from the table to answer his phone.

While he was in the other room, Blake collected the dishes and headed to the sink. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the money and the letter sitting on the countertop where his father had left them. He placed the dishes in the sink and picked up his letter. For whatever reason, he felt compelled to read it, even though he knew perfectly well what it said. Soon, his eyes caught on the same section that had halted Ted’s gaze the night before: I’m happy for the first time in a long, long time. Ted is amazing! I’m so lucky to have him. 

Reading his own words, his own hopefulness, brought a pang of guilt into his stomach. He thought about how Ted seemed to prove his words true each and every day. He had handled his father’s unexpected presence with remarkable kindness, then put up with a bitter, angry partner, and woken up early the morning after it all to prepare breakfast.

Just then, Ted came into the kitchen and Blake snapped the letter behind his back, though he wasn’t sure he managed to hide it in time. 

“Um, it’s Ben” Ted sounded a little unsure. “He’s calling to confirm that we’re still coming for dinner tonight. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’ll just tell him something came up.”

Blake immediately relaxed, realizing that Ted hadn’t spotted the letter in his hand. “It’s okay. I need to get out of here for a while.” 

“You sure?” Ted asked, holding his cell phone tightly to his chest so Ben couldn’t hear their conversation.

Blake nodded and forced a closed-mouth smile, relaxing further as Ted left the room. He glanced at the letter once more, folded it, and put it in his left front pocket. Moments later he returned to the sink, and began filling it with soap and warm water.

“Right. Ben said 6:30” Ted said, emerging from the bedroom once more. “Is that okay?”

“Sure” Blake replied. 

“Here, let me do that” Ted came over to Blake’s side.

“It’s okay” Blake told him. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

“I’ll just wipe the counters down then” Ted said, turning to grab a cloth. 

Things were silent for a moment as both men scrubbed away, until Ted suddenly remembered something – the relic – last night’s dinner in the fridge. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he knew he had to. “Um…” he began cautiously. “Now that we’re going to Ben and Michael’s, what are we going to do with that food in the fridge? I don’t know if that salmon will last until tomorrow.”

“We could cook it and bring it with us” Blake suggested nonchalantly, as if the food was in no way connected with the events of the previous evening.

“It sounds like Ben’s already got a feast on the go”, Ted told him. “You know what he’s like in the kitchen.”

Blake thought for a moment and then made another suggestion. “We could give it to Mable.”

Mable was a seventy-nine year old woman who lived a few floors down in their building. She lived alone and had taken a liking to the boys when, one evening, they saw her struggling with her grocery bags and helped her carry them into her apartment. Despite her age and the less than open-minded views of many of her elderly peers, she was more than accepting of Ted and Blake’s partnership. In fact, each time she saw them, she’d ask when they were tying the knot, teasing that they should “hurry up already”. 

“Good idea” Ted said warmly.

“It’s practically ready. All she’d have to do is pop it in the oven” Blake added.

“I can bring it to her now” Ted said, opening the fridge door. “Unless you want to do the honours?”

“Go ahead. I’ll finish up in here.” Blake watched Ted lift the pan out of the fridge. “Can you manage everything?”

“I should be fine” Ted assured him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes”

“Just make sure to tell her the oven temperature and how much time to put it in for” Blake reminded him.

A puzzled expression came across Ted’s face and Blake knew exactly what it meant. “400 for 20 minutes.”

“400 for 20 minutes” Ted repeated over and over as he headed out the door.

Blake finished the dishes and tidied the rest of the kitchen. He grabbed the stack of money from the counter, brought it to the bedroom, and put it in the drawer of his bedside table. He would decide what to do with it later.

He knew he would have some time before Ted returned since Mable liked to talk. So he grabbed his laptop, set it up on the freshly cleared kitchen table and started on some paperwork. He had nearly a dozen patient files to update after the week’s sessions. He would fill them each with his hand-written notes, typing out descriptions of their unique stories, behaviours, and moods.

Somewhere in the middle of the stack of files, he paused. There were times he could hardly believe he was a counselor; that he was now responsible for the patients, who only three years earlier, would have been his peers. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he knew he owed it all to one man. Until Ted, such a transformation hadn’t even seemed possible. He was so sure that he would screw everything up. That he would forever be nothing more than the tweaked out twinkie others labelled him to be. But just when it all seemed hopeless, there was Ted, ready and willing to believe that he could overcome it all. And it was because of that belief that he was able to do just that.

Blake sighed and looked around the apartment – the only place that had ever felt like home. In that moment, he made a decision. He would be happy, no matter how much his father had wounded him. He would be happy, just as he described himself to be in the letter. He would be happy because he had every reason to be. He would be happy because he had Ted.

Nearly half an hour later, the older man returned. “Sorry I took so long. You know how she likes to gab.”

“How’d it go?” Blake asked, staring at his computer screen as he typed the last few words into a patient’s profile.

“I think it just about made her year. She practically broke my eardrum when I told her everything was for her” Ted said, sticking his finger in his ear. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear her up here.”

“There, see? Problem ...” Blake stopped midsentence as he looked up at Ted. “…solved.”

“What?” Ted asked.

“You’ve got lipstick all over your face!” Blake said with a laugh. He got up from his chair, made his way over to Ted and used his thumb to wipe off some of the bright red coloring. “See?” he said, holding his thumb up in the air.

Ted rolled his eyes. “No wonder the guy in the elevator looked at me like I was crazy”. He huffed and headed to the master bathroom to wash his face.

Blake desperately tried to hold in his laughter. “All I can say is, I hope that’s Mable’s lipstick!”

“You know it is! She layers that stuff on like paint”, he yelled back.

“You’re not turning straight on me, are you?” Blake playfully called out.

“Very funny” Ted retorted in a characteristically flat, deadpan voice.

Blake made his way to the bathroom where Ted was washing his face, scrubbing vigorously with a wet cloth. Blake came up behind him and put his arms around his middle, folding his hands on the older man’s chest. Then he kissed his favourite spot - right between Ted shoulder blades. As he did, the letter in his pocket pressed firmly against his thigh. He closed his eyes, and thought again for a moment about what he had written. I’m happy for the first time in a long, long time. Ted is amazing! I’m so lucky to have him. 

Thank you for breakfast” he said as sweetly as he could muster. 

There was a warmth and a sense of calm about his voice that quickly dissolved every ounce of nervous energy in Ted’s body. “You’re welcome.” Ted smiled appreciatively. “Seeing as you must have made me about four hundred and eighty million breakfasts by now, I figured I could at least make you one…even if it was pretty awful.”

“It wasn’t awful. I mean it. I’m going to sleep in a lot more from now on” Blake said, with a cheeky grin pressed up against Ted’s back.

Ted chuckled to himself and turned from the mirror to face his lover. 

“And thank you for putting up with me and my crazy…everything” Blake was careful to avoid the words ‘family’ and ‘father’ and all the bad memories that went with them. Today would be a good day. It had to be. 

He put his arms up on Ted’s shoulders and linked his hands behind his neck. Ted smiled and gave his lover and soft, slow kiss on the lips. “I adore your crazy everything”.

All Blake could do was lower his head and smile. He loved the way Ted could deliver the most over the top, romantic sentiments with such a genuine and beautiful sincerity. His words were never phoney or forced. Sure, Ted stuttered and stammered often, especially when that nervous energy in his body got to be too much. But when he meant something, really meant it, the words flowed from him effortlessly. They leapt from his heart without reservation and Blake felt privileged to receive them. 

The blond man looked back up at Ted and noticed a small red splotch of lipstick on his right cheek. “Missed a spot”, he said with a smile. 

Ted immediately turned to the mirror. “Shit!”

Blake took Ted’s face in his hands and turned it towards him. “It’s okay” he said, wiping the spot clean with his thumb. “It sort of suits you.” 

Ted looked back to the mirror. “Who knew all this ugly mug needed was a little make-up?”

“Which ugly mug is that?” Blake asked, his tone completely serious as he stared into the mirror alongside Ted.

“Nothing. Nevermind.” Ted was quick to put on a smile. He wasn’t going to be self-deprecating no matter how much he wanted to be. He wasn’t going to make this day about him. “So, how about that walk, huh?”

But Blake insisted and pulled Ted’s face towards him once again. “C’mon, tell me.” Those blue eyes were irresistible.

“It’s staring right at you” Ted said matter-of-factly.

Blake shrugged his shoulders. “Hmm, I don’t see it.”

“Look closer, you will”, Ted told him.

Blake took a step forward and returned his hands to the back of Ted’s neck. “Sorry. Still not seeing it.”

“Well, you better get your eyes checked” Ted said light-heartedly, masking his meager self-confidence.

“They’re working just fine thanks.” Blake leaned in even closer. “Hmm, let’s see…beautiful skin, beautiful eyes, beautiful lashes, beautiful nose, beautiful lips…Nope. Not an ugly mug in sight.”

Ted wanted to rant about how his lover had clearly overlooked the wrinkles, the dark circles, the double chin, and the puffy bags under his eyes, but he settled instead on a simple, bashful, yet somewhat sarcastic: “Gee, thanks.” 

But Blake knew that tone - that flat, cynical drawl like armour, shutting out even the simplest of compliments. So he pulled Ted close and kissed him. The sort of lingering kiss that reminded Ted he was loved. 

If Blake’s words had failed to permeate that armour, his kiss sure hadn’t. It left a boyish, almost silly expression on Ted’s face. The older man looked at Blake with a careful, appreciative gaze, remaining fixed on his luminous light blue eyes and soon, he noticed a mischievous glint sparkle within them. 

“How about we skip that walk?” the blonde propositioned rather suggestively.

Ted wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such an invitation, but he couldn’t resist it. “Oh, I don’t know, I was kind of looking forward to it” he teased, echoing his lover’s mischievousness.

“As much as this?” Blake purred, leaning in and grazing his hand over his lover’s crotch.

Ted closed his eyes and paused for moment, pretending to have to think about his answer. “Yeah, screw it. We can get our exercise indoors.”

And with that, Blake playfully pushed Ted out of the master bathroom until the back of his legs touched the end of the bed. He wasted no time, pushing Ted down on to the maroon coloured sheets, straddling him, and removing his shirt with ease.

Ted reached up to remove Blake’s shirt but his hand was playfully batted away as the younger man eyed him up and down, and bit his bottom lip, that same mischievous glint still sparkling in his eyes. “You know, for someone who’s eaten four-hundred and eighty million breakfasts, you have a pretty spectacular body.”

“Spectacular, huh? Now you’re really exaggerating.” Ted laughed. In his mind, his body was far from spectacular. But his lover disagreed. 

“Nope” Blake pulled him into a hungry kiss. “Not exaggerating. Not. One. Bit.” His voice was breathy as he kissed Ted’s chest between each word.

Ted couldn’t help but smile even as arousal was overtaking his body. “Ah flattery - the way to man’s heart.”

A wicked grin came across Blake’s face. “Oh I don’t need flattery to find my way there” he teased, as his tongue swirled around Ted’s nipple. “Besides, right now I’m interested in a different organ.” Blake formed a trail of wet kisses down to Ted’s navel and gripped his cock tightly through his jeans, the firmness of his touch causing Ted’s breath to catch in his throat. 

The playful banter was clearly over as Blake reached his destination and freed Ted’s growing erection from the restrictive confines of his jeans, tossing the denim fabric to the floor. A brief yet palpable silence filled the room, as Ted lay there naked, awaiting his lover’s next move.

Without warning, Blake licked the tender tip of Ted’s stiffened cock, the surprise sensation causing the older man’s fingers to curl deep into the mattress. A sharp hissing intake of air passed through his gritted teeth and every bit of his body was instantly tense. 

Blake grinned wickedly once more and went back to work, this time running his tongue in winding, snake-like motions over the pulsing veins in Ted’s cock. 

The older man savoured the skilled movements of his young lover’s tongue as it coated the blushed and tender bit of skin with a thin layer of saliva. He thrust his hips forward without meaning to, desperate for the warmth of Blake’s mouth, wanting so much for it to consume him, his freshly coated cock growing cold as the morning air danced around it. 

Finally, Blake took him in his mouth, the sudden moist heat causing his curled fingers and toes to relax, if only momentarily. He struggled to fight back an embarrassingly immediate orgasm, resisting the temptation to buck his hips forward once more. He wanted this to last forever. He reached down and ran his hands through the soft blond strands of Blake’s hair, keeping them there as Blake’s head moved back and forth, settling into a steady pace. 

Blake slid one hand around to Ted’s lower back while the other maintained a firm grip around the base of his shaft. His cheeks began to hollow, his mouth constricting around Ted’s cock in the most perfect rhythmic pattern, leaving the older man writhing beneath him, back arched, fingers and toes curled once again, and lips slightly parted. 

The two men filled the room with sounds of the most deeply carnal ecstasy. Blake sucked while Ted’s lungs contracted in time with his lover’s movements. Ted was on the edge. One more tease of Blake’s tongue over the tip of his cock and he gasped loudly, finally giving over to the whims of his body. He came powerfully, every nerve ablaze and every muscle twitching as Blake eagerly swallowed it all.

The young man pulled his mouth back and reveled at the sight of his lover, lying there breathless with his head tilted back, pinned against the pillow, anchored by waves of pleasure. To him, Ted was gorgeous like this. He was gorgeous always, but especially like this. When he let go. When he forgot to wonder whether he was attractive enough, or beautiful enough, or desirable enough. When he surrendered. When he lost control.

Ted’s eyes were still closed when he felt Blake’s lips touch his own, the softness of his kiss bringing him gently back to reality. When his eyelids did open, he saw that beautiful blue colour that had become a treasured fixture in his life. Blake’s eyes were staring down on him, glassy and full of passion. Ted took his face in his hands and pulled him closer, staring into his eyes a few seconds more before planting a feather light kiss on his forehead.

Blake returned the affection, touching his forehead to Ted’s, smiling as tiny beads of sweat press between their skin. He curled up at Ted’s side and rested his head on his shoulder.

“That was…” Ted was still breathless, and for him, there was only one word that could describe the experience. “…spectacular.”

Blake’s eyebrows lifted as he stared at his lover. “Now who’s exaggerating?”

“Not exaggerating.” Ted trailed his fingers down Blake’s cotton-draped chest. “Not. One…”

Blake stopped Ted’s hand from moving any lower. “That was just for you. I really do have to get some work done.”

Ted kissed his shoulder. “You just did me. That’s work.” 

“Nice try” Blake said with a smirk. He sat up and slid over to the side of the bed and leaned over to pick up Ted’s jeans from the floor.

Just then, the older man’s heart sank unexpectedly as the back of Blake’s shirt lifted just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the purple- grey bruise that discoloured his skin. It made a near perfect horizontal line across his lower back, a virtual imprint of where the edge of the countertop had been violently forced up against his body. 

Ted wanted so much to touch it, to kiss it, to say something comforting, as though it might magically heal his lover’s skin. But Blake was so blissfully unaware that his wound was exposed.

“You might need these”, the blond said cheerfully as he placed the discarded pair of jeans on top of the bed. “Unless you plan on walking around naked for the rest of the day – not that I would complain. Although it might get a little distracting.”

Ted snapped his attention back to the present moment as a pile of denim fabric fell on the bed beside him. He was struck almost immediately by just how happy his lover looked.

“So…what should we bring to Michael and Ben’s?” Blake asked, bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed.

Ted grimaced internally. He knew the traditional gift to bring to a dinner party was alcohol, but he couldn’t bear the thought of suggesting they bring that. Not after last night. Not after seeing that bruise. So he swallowed his worry, pushed every unpleasant thought from his mind and settled on something sweet. 

“We could bring cookies”, he suggested.

Blake thought for a moment. “But we don’t have any cookies.”

“I’ll make some.” Ted kissed his shoulder and smiled.

Blake looked at him in slight disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah”, Ted assured. “Breakfast and cookies. I’m on a roll.”

Ted slipped on his pants, stood up, and outstretched his hand in Blake’s direction. “But I think I’ll need some tips from the master.” The blond laughed and grasped his lover’s hand.

Today would be a good day. It had to be.


	4. The Dinner Party

Ted and Blake arrived at the Novotny-Bruckner residence at about 6:30pm as scheduled, Blake with a box of freshly made cookies in his hand. 

Upon knocking on the door, they were greeted by Ben, who looked as if he’d been cooking for ages. Tiny beats of sweat had collected on his forehead and the skin on his hands had been discoloured by whatever culinary creations he was busy whipping up.

“Hey!” He addressed them warmly.

“Hi!” Ted and Blake’s voices were nearly in unison.

“Come in, come in. Sorry, I’m a mess” he said, lifting his hands in the air as he headed to the sink to wash them.

“Been cooking up a storm I see” Blake said, stepping into the apartment alongside Ted.

“I have, I have” Ben said with a smile.

“This is for you – well, you and Michael” Ted said, pointing to the box in Blake’s left hand.

“We made cookies.” Blake said, lifting the box in the air. “Chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin - wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”

“You guys made these?” Ben asked with a smile as he took the box from Blake’s hand. 

“Ted made them really. I…supervised”, Blake told him.

“Well, Michael’s going to be happy. He’s got quite a sweet tooth” Ben told them. “Have a seat. So, since you two don’t drink – what can I get you – I’ve got water, some kind of juice, I think. Um…milk, coffee, tea, soda…?”

“Water’s fine for me” Blake replied.

“And me” Ted quickly followed.

‘Water it is” Ben said, as he headed to the kitchen to fulfill their request

“Where is Michael?” Ted called out to the kitchen.

“He’s picking up Jenny-Rebecca. The girls asked us to take her for the weekend. Bit of a last minute thing. I hope that’s alright. He should be home in ten or fifteen minutes.” Ben handed them each their drinks and took a seat alongside them at the table.

“Now I understand the highchair” Blake said, gesturing towards the tall plastic apparatus sitting beside the table. “It’ll be great to meet her.”

“Oh, that’s right! You’ve never met her”, Ben exclaimed. “Well, I hope you don’t mind fussy two year olds.”

“Not at all” Blake said earnestly.

“Oh and Deb’s going to be joining us too. That was also a last minute thing, but once she heard about Jenny-Rebecca, there was no stopping her.”

“I can imagine” Ted said with a laugh.

“So, how are you two?” Ben asked.

Ted and Blake looked at each other, then back at Ben. “Good, good. I think we’re both happy to get out of our apartment for a while” Ted said, placing a supportive hand on Blake’s knee under the table.

Blake smiled just slightly at his partner’s hidden gesture of support. “Your place is looking amazing.”

It wasn’t exactly his taste, but it was beautiful. The colour palate was orangey and sandy, seemingly Spanish inspired. There were unique pieces of art adorning nearly every wall, no doubt collected by Ben over his many years of travels, and a few of Michael’s comic books had worked their way on to the two large shelving units in the living room. The place felt eclectic, like a sophisticated yet lively mix of the two men who called it home.

“It’s a work in progress” Ben said modestly. “We’ve still a bit of painting to do the bathroom and some furniture to move, but we’re getting there.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you - how’s the new rehab program coming along? You gave the presentation and everything?”

“Yep. Yep. That’s all done”, Blake said. “I have no idea how it went, really, but we’ll see.”

“Any idea when you’ll hear back?” Ben asked.

“Probably not until this coming Friday, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they take longer”, Blake replied.

“Well, I think it’s a very admirable thing you’re doing”, Ben said sincerely.

“Thanks” Blake said with a genuine, slightly bashful closed-mouthed smile. “What about you? How are your classes going? Any more books on the go?”

“Classes are going well. We’re heading into exams, so the tension’s building.” A mock scared expression came across Ben’s face. “As for books, nothing’s in the works right now, but soon, hopefully.”

“What about you, Ted?” Ben asked. “How are things at Kinnetik?”

“Good, good. It’s….busy. We’re getting new accounts every week, so Brian’s happy” Ted replied.

“And you are too, I hope?” Ben asked.

“Sure. Yeah, of course. If Brian’s happy, it makes my life easier” Ted laughed.

“Well, sounds like you’re both going to need a vacation soon” Ben added.

“That’s what this is” Blake joked, though a large part of him was serious. He was enjoying being out of their usual space. He loved Ted’s apartment and he loved living there, but sometimes he felt he needed to escape it. Its walls were filled with memories both good and bad, and after last night, the bad ones were becoming more and more difficult to forget. 

“Hardly” Ben furrowed his brow. “I mean a real vacation. You know - sandy beaches, sunshine, relaxation…”

Suddenly the gang were interrupted by a thundering knock at the door - the sort of knock that could only come from one person.

“Oh, that must be Debbie” Ben said, getting up from the table.

“Sure sounds like it” Ted quipped. 

Ted and Blake looked at each other and braced themselves for the hurricane of energy that was about to enter the once zen apartment.

“Right on time! Come in, come in.” Ben said, opening the door and outstretching his arms.

Debbie hugged him tight. “Hi honey!” It was clear she’d just finished a shift at the diner. He red wig was firmly in place, her torso was covered in a hilariously vulgar t-shirt, and her badge-covered vest completed the ensemble.

Soon, she spotted Ted out the corner of her eye. “Teddy!”

“Hi Deb” Ted said, getting up to greet her. He gave her a big hug and headed back to the table to keep the entryway clear.

“And you! Hi, sweetie” she said, putting her right hand on Blake’s cheek. “Right, now turn around. I never forget a butt.”

“You’ve seen him and his butt dozens of times”, Ted bellowed from the dinner table.

“Yeah, but now that Sunshine’s in New York, I miss that bubble butt”, she admitted. “And honey, you got one!”

Ted smirked and rolled his eyes, laughing loud enough for Debbie to hear.

“Oh c’mon, it’s not like you don’t know what I’m talking about”, she yelled to Ted across the room. 

“Right. Now why don’t you let him and his bubble butt take a seat” Ted playfully shot back as his face broke into a coy smile. He did know exactly what Debbie was talking about.

“It’s okay. I’ll gladly take the compliment” Blake interjected, laughing as his face turned slightly red. “And I’ll take this” he said, taking a small box from her hand and bringing it to Ben in the kitchen.

Debbie had taken a real liking to the young blond over the past year. She still knew very little about the details of his past, but she always remembered the way he had stepped in to help her brother, providing the funds to bail him out of jail when it looked like all hope was lost. In her eyes, that in itself was enough of a reason to adore him. And his Sunshine-like bubble butt and cheery smile didn’t hurt one bit.

Ben took Debbie’s box from Blake hands. “Oh, let me guess… lemon bars?”, he called out from the kitchen.

“Christ! Look at you! Would you sit down?” Debbie yelped, seeing the bit of sweat that had collected on Ben’s brow.

“I will” Ben said with a laugh. “Just putting on the finishing touches.”

“So, where are my babies?” Debbie asked, peering around the apartment as if they might simply be hiding behind the bookshelf or the television set.

“They’ll be home any minute. Can I get you anything to drink?” Ben asked.

“You know me honey - wine – any colour”, Debbie replied.

Ben fetched her request as she took a seat at the table across from Ted and Blake. “So, how are you two lovebirds? Gettin’ hitched any time soon?”, she asked, with her characteristic bluntness.

The two men lowered their heads and smiled. “You’re the second person to ask me that today!” Ted told her, chuckling as he remembered Mable and her incessant prodding earlier that morning.

“I’m not surprised” Debbie said matter-of-factly. “You two should jump on the bandwagon! Join the happily married homos - Mel and Linds, my baby and the master chef here, Brian and Justin – well, almost…”

“I promise you, when we do, you’ll have a front row seat.” Ted said, touching Debbie’s hand from across the table.

At that moment, a key slid in the lock and everyone snapped their heads toward the door. “Oh, there they are!” Ben declared with equal parts relief and excitement.

“Hi baby!” Debbie exclaimed, rising to her fear as her son and granddaughter entered the apartment. 

She immediately focused every ounce of her attention on little Jenny-Rebecca. 

“Hi to you too, ma” Michael quipped, rolling his eyes and smiling as his mother proceeded to ignore him.

Within an instant Debbie had Jenny-Rebecca in her arms. “Look at you”, she cooed in high pitched voice as Jenny to grinned from ear to ear.

By this time, everyone had encircled the youngster. Ben kissed her on the top of the head. “Jenny, you remember grandma and Teddy. And this is Blake. Can you say ‘Hi Blake’?”

“Hi…Bwake” Jenny -Rebecca said, pausing as she struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar name.

“It’s Blake, sweetie” Michael corrected. “Bllllake”, but his daughter simply looked puzzled.

“It’s okay. ‘Bwake’ is good. We’ll stick with Bwake” the blond interjected we a laugh. He was quick to notice the young girl’s jet black hair, full lips, and dark eyes. A virtual Michael clone. “She looks just like you” he added.

“Yeah, here’s hoping that’s a good thing” Michael said sheepishly.

“It’s a very good thing” Ben assured him, kissing the side of his head.

Just then the oven timer began to beep. Ben headed to the kitchen and gave the official call: “Okay, dinner’s ready everyone. Have a seat.”

“Yes, Bwake…C’mon, let’s have a seat” Ted teased, taking his partner’s hand. Blake smirked at him, the corner of the right side of his mouth turning just slightly upward. He followed Ted and took a seat to his left.

Minutes later, Ben served the meal, placing everything in centre of the table while Michael put Jenny-Rebecca in her high chair, situated between him and his mother.

“Sorry, it’s nothing to fancy, but Michael warned me not to go too crazy” Ben told the gang. “So, we’ve got pineapple stuffed chicken breast, mushroom risotto and steamed rapini with a garlic and lemon sauce.”

“Christ!” Debbie exclaimed.

“Ma!” Michael yelped, gesturing toward the two year old seated between them.

“Sorry, honey” she said, covering Jenny-Rebecca’s ears. “Steamed what did you say?”

“Rapini” Ben repeated. “It’s a vegetable - sort of like a mix between broccoli and spinach.”

“Wow!” Blake exclaimed, looking at the plates full of food in wonderment.

“And that’s toned down” Michael joked. 

“Okay, dig in everyone.” Ben said, gesturing toward the heaps of food.

“Looks amazing” Ted said as he lifted a chicken breast onto his plate.

“Thanks” Ben said with an appreciative smile.

Everyone dove in and exchanged various expressions of deliciousness. “Mmm’s and Ohh’s filled the room to the point that it was beginning to sound like the backroom at Babylon.

By the time they had all finished eating, Jenny-Rebecca was getting restless in her high chair. “What is it, sweetie?” Michael asked his daughter. 

“She pointed to the television in the distance. “Street! Street!”

“Street?” Ted asked, looking at Michael and Ben with a confused expression.

“She means Sesame Street”, Ben told him. “It’s her favourite.”

Michael looked down at his daughter’s tiny plastic plate. To his surprise, it was nearly empty. “Okay”, he said. “Since you ate your food like a good girl.”

Michael lifted her from the highchair. “Excuse me for a minute.” 

A few seconds later he called out to Ben. “Ben, where’d you put the baby bag?”

“In our bedroom” Ben said. 

“Got it!” Michael called back. He proceeded to put on a Sesame Street DVD and placed his daughter on the sofa. Soon, he returned to the table and the conversation continued. The gang talked about everything from Hunter, who was away at college, to Michael’s comic store, to Babylon, to Kinnetik. 

But Blake had grown silent as time went on - a fact which hadn’t been lost on his ever-watchful partner. Although he was well into his adult years, these sorts of dinners were still new to Blake – everyone sitting around a table, laughing and chatting, appreciating a great meal as well as each other. There was a tranquility about it, despite the many clamouring voices travelling back and forth across the table. It felt warm. There was no anger or hostility, no rushing around or scarfing down forkfuls of food. Just togetherness. The stark contrast between this family and his own was nearly as disheartening as it was comforting. But there was one similarity between this family and his that had immediately captured his attention. 

When a suitable break in the conversation presented itself, Blake finally chimed in. “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you all mind if I- “

“Oh, the bathroom’s down the hall on the right” Ben said, thinking he was answering Blake’s question.

“Oh, no. I know”, Blake said. “I mean, do you mind if I…have a seat on the sofa.”

Ted leaned over and whispered in Blake’s ear. “If you’re tired, we don’t have to stay.”

“It’s okay” Blake whispered back, turning instead toward Michael’s daughter and the television set. For a moment, everyone at the table looked puzzled, until they realized just what it was that Blake had been trying to ask. This wasn’t about a bathroom break, or the comfy sofa, or the allure of Sesame Street, this was about the little girl named Jenny-Rebecca.

“Oh…” Michael said, slightly shocked. “Sure!”

“Be our guest”, Ben added. “As long as you don’t mind Sesame Street.”

“Sesame Street’s fine by me.” Blake said, as he got up to join Jenny-Rebecca on the sofa, quietly taking a seat to the little girl’s left.

Ben and Michael looked at each other simultaneously and shrugged their shoulders. They had no idea what prompted Blake’s sudden interest in the young toddler, but they were happy to have an extra pair of eyes looking out for her while the rest of them chatted.

Ted remained at the table as the conversation once again picked up, but his gaze grew increasingly fixed on his partner and the little girl sitting by his side. He had known Blake for over six years, on and off of course, but never once had he seen him interact with a child. There was something serene about it. It was as if, in that moment, Blake was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was at home. 

Ted continued to gaze at the two periodically, while doing his best to remain engaged in the conversation at the table. 

“Oh, I almost forgot…the desserts!” Ben said suddenly, hurrying over to the kitchen to collect the two boxes he’d been given. He placed them both at the centre of the table and opened them. “Okay, so, on the left are Debbie’s famous lemon bars and on the right are Ted and Blake’s homemade cookies. Chocolate chip and…”

“Oatmeal raisin” Ted told the gang.

Michael’s eyes widened and he quickly grabbed two cookies, one of each kind, along with one of his mother’s signature lemon bars.

“See? What’d I tell you” Ben laughed, gesturing towards his partner. “He and his sweet tooth are in heaven.”

Michael smirked back, his mouth full of cookie. 

Ben steered clear of the sweet treats, remaining his typical health conscious self, but Debbie couldn’t resist anything with chocolate. 

“Wow! These are good” Debbie said as she chewed a bite of the chocolate chip creation. “What’s your secret?”

“Blake says it’s all about the baking soda and baking powder combo. That’s right, right?” Ted said, turning to his partner who was still seated on the sofa.

“Yup.” Blake confirmed, turning from the television to face them. “Most recipes only call for one or the other, but I’ve found that both works best.”

Suddenly little Jenny Rebecca turned too and outstretched her arm toward the dinner table. “Daddy! Cookie!” she called out.

“Okay, but what do you say?” Michael asked her.

“Pweease!” his daughter pleaded.

Michael gave his remaining uneaten cookie to his daughter. Then he realised Blake hadn’t been offered one of his own delicious creations. “Sorry, Blake did you want one?”

Blake paused for a moment. “I wasn’t going to, but I guess I’ll give in.”

Michael grabbed the box of cookies from the table and brought it to him, but just as Blake reached in to grab one, Jenny-Rebecca stuck her hand in too. “Ah, ah!” Michael corrected. “You already had one, sweetie. That’s enough for you. Blake hasn’t had any yet.”

Disappointed, the little girl slumped back in her seat while Blake grabbed himself a cookie. Michael smirked a bit at his daughter’s grumpy expression as he headed back to the table.

Very quickly, Blake took notice of the little girl’s disappointment. He couldn’t very well enjoy his cookie while she sat there empty-handed. So, when no one was looking, he tore it in half and handed her one of the two pieces. “Shhh…” he whispered, putting his finger to his lips. The little girl’s eyes lit up and she smiled broadly. She took the cookie from Blake’s hand and gobbled it up as quickly and as quietly as possible. 

Back at the dinner table, the conversation continued to roar. Michael busied himself eating yet another cookie as he and Ted ranted and rambled about Brian’s latest antics, while Ben and Debbie discussed Justin’s latest accomplishments at a recent art show in New York.

Moments later tough, the conversation was once again halted, this time by a boisterous laugh coming from Jenny-Rebecca’s mouth. No one knew what exactly had made the little girl laugh so hard, but Ted was quick to notice a broad smile gleaming across his partner’s face. It was the sort of smile he’d been longing to see earlier that morning.

“Aw, would you listen to that?” Debbie said, closing her eyes to the sound of her granddaughter’s laughter. “That right there is the best sound in the whole world. No ifs, ands, or bubble butts about it.”

“Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh like that”, Michael agreed. “And she’s seen that DVD like…twenty times.”

“You’re a real natural with her”, Ben added, with a somewhat shocked expression.

“Oh…thanks.” Blake smiled, a little caught of guard as he looked back at them from the sofa. I was the oldest of seven, so I guess I ought to be.”

“Your poor mother!” Debbie had an almost horrified expression on her face. “I only had one and it nearly killed me.”

“Thanks, ma.” Michael shot a playful, disapproving glance at his mother.

“Sweetheart, you know I love you”, she assured him.

“Seven. Wow!” Ben exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Blake smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat, unsure of how much he should reveal. “Actually…when I lived at home, my youngest sister about her age”, he told them. “Oh and my oldest sister was named Jenny. Just Jenny though – no Rebecca.”

“I had no idea” Ben admitted. “That must have been quite a lively household.”

“Never a dull moment” Blake declared. 

“I can’t even imagine” Michael said in disbelief.

“You’re not alone”, Blake assured him. “Most people can’t.” 

Ted looked on, somewhat shocked that his partner had chosen to reveal anything about his family. 

But the blond was quick to change the subject before they could dig any deeper into past. “I hate to tell you, but this little one’s falling asleep.” Jenny-Rebecca’s head was now resting against his arm. Her eyes were barely open as she stared at the television. 

Ben looked at his watch. “Ah, almost nine. She should be getting to bed now anyway.”

“We should probably get out of your hair too” Ted said, as he began helping Debbie clear the table.

Ben lifted Jenny-Rebecca from the couch and took her to the door, where the guests were beginning to gather.

Ted and Blake each gave Michael and Debbie a hug, then they focused their attention on the chef of the evening.

“Thank you for dinner” Ted said, placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder. 

“It was fantastic. More than fantastic, really” Blake said earnestly. 

“Only next time, tone it down a bit would ya?” Ted added jokingly.

“Will do.” Ben smiled and laughed. “You two are welcome any time.”

Ted waved shyly to Jenny-Rebecca who was still hoisted in Ben’s arms and turned towards the door.

But Blake wasn’t about to forget the little girl with whom he’d shared his cookie. He took her tiny hand in his own and whispered, “Bye, sweetheart.”

She was half asleep against Ben’s chest, but she offered him a sweet, softly-spoken farewell. “Bye, Bwake.”


	5. The Calm

Ted and Blake arrived home from the Novotny-Bruckner dinner at about 11:00pm and found a piece of paper stuck to their front door. Ted pulled it off and read it aloud. “The salmon was scrumptious! What a treat! Thank you so much, boys – Mable.”

Both men looked at each other and smiled.

“See? I told you it was a good idea” Ted said, squeezing Blake’s shoulder as he unlocked the door.

Upon entering the apartment, the blond was quick to grab his laptop and take a seat at the table.

Almost immediately, Ted noticed his partner’s spirits slump. He didn’t seem sad necessarily, just…muted - less alive than he had been in the warm ambiance of the dinner party, with Jenny-Rebecca by his side.

“More paper work?”, the older man asked.

“There’s always more paperwork.”

“But it’s after eleven…and you almost fell asleep in the car on the way home.” Ted reminded him, eager to pull him away from work, if only to chat about the evening’s events.

“I can squeeze in one more hour”, Blake assured him.

Ted walked over to his partner’s chair and stood behind it, placing his hands on the blond man’s shoulders. “You sure?” he asked, leaning over him.

Blake nodded, placing his hand atop Ted’s for a moment, before letting it fall down to the keyboard below.

“I guess I did sort of distract you from your work this morning, didn’t I?” Ted said, cheekily trying to lighten the mood. He expected a wicked grin to immerge on Blake’s face or some playful retort, but he got neither.

“I distracted you” the blond corrected in a distracted, monotone voice as he typed away, never taking his eyes off his computer screen.

Ted let his hands slip from the young man’s shoulders, realizing his partner was happier to escape into his work than escape from it. He cleared his throat and did his best to return to a sense of normalcy. “Updating patient files?”

Blake lifted a stack of papers in his right hand. “I’ve got to get through this pile before Monday.”

“I didn’t realize there were so many” Ted’s eyes widened as he looked at copious amount of paper in Blake’s hand. Perhaps his partner really was just swamped with work. “Well…” Ted sighed. “If you’re going to be productive, I will be too.”

He grabbed his briefcase from the front door and plopped it on the table across from Blake. “This won’t distract you will it?”

Blake shook his head. “No.”

Ted smiled cautiously and took a seat. He opened his briefcase and removed his own stack of papers filled with endless numbers, graphs and charts - far less interesting than the intimate details of patients’ personal lives the man across from him had become immersed in.

The blond did glance up from his computer screen though, just long enough to catch a glimpse of Ted’s briefcase. It was an old, scuffed black leather thing. Ted had carried it to and from work for ages, and though it showed its wear, he refused to replace it, much to Brian’s dismay. Each morning upon arriving to work, Brian would make some sort of wise crack remark. “Theodore, get a new briefcase, will you! That thing’s older than you and you’re already prehistoric. Theodore, if you’re going to work for my company, your briefcase better be so sexy that even I want to buy it. And right now all I want to do is throw that thing out a window.” Still, Ted refused to part with it.

“You’re never going to get rid of that thing, are you?” Blake asked.

Ted looked up suddenly, unsure of what “thing” he was referring to.

“Your briefcase” Blake clarified.

“And give Brian what he wants? Not a chance!” Ted joked, grabbing his briefcase off the table and squeezing it against his chest. “Nah, I’ve grown quite fond of this old thing.” He said, patting its worn and scuffed surface. “It’s been by my side for so long and it still does the job. Can’t give up on it yet.”

And just then – Blake’s eyes softened and a gentle closed-mouthed smile emerged on his face.

“What?” Ted asked, confused yet pleased by his partner’s expression.

Blake replied with a simple “Nothing.” Really though, there was something. Something endearing about the way his partner spoke about that worn out, dreary thing – as if it were a person. A person he loved and couldn’t bear to leave behind. He was loyal to a fault, even to his briefcase.

“Silly, I know” Ted remarked, snapping Blake from his thoughts. “What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

“It’s not silly” Blake told him, still smiling. Sure, some might think it childish, seeing as the man had the funds and more than enough reason to replace it. But for Blake, it warmed his heart, suddenly serving as a reminder of why he adored the man so much. He could love things even if they weren’t beautiful. He saw their value when no one else did. To him, there was goodness in everything, even a briefcase – even an addict.

Soon, the room filled with the dizzying sound of rapid-fire keystrokes – Blake on his keyboard and Ted on his calculator.

After a few minutes, Ted noticed his feet were as cold as ice, dangling beneath the table in front of him. “I’m just going to grab my slippers.”

“It’s August” Blake pointed out, raising his eyebrow just slightly.

“Yes, but I’m an old man with no circulation” Ted quipped with a smile. “And my feet are freezing.”

Blake lowered his laptop screen and smirked. He used his pointer finger to make a ‘come closer’ motion.

For a moment, Ted was puzzled, until Blake tucked his chair in nearer to the table and signaled once more for Ted to do the same.

As instructed, Ted moved his chair in closer and almost instantly, he felt Blake’s feet curl around his own, the sudden warmth coming as a welcome surprise.

Blake raised his laptop screen back into place and peaked up just as Ted’s face broke into a bashful smile. Satisfied, he began typing away.

Ted was grateful for the added warmth, but even more grateful to see that his partner’s mood was lifting. “You know, this whole mutual productiveness thing is pretty great” Ted remarked lightheartedly. “No one told me there’d be built in foot warmers.”

The two men worked quietly across from each other, but after forty-five minutes, both were beginning to tire, their energy and their focus waning. Blake was the first to break through their keystrokes with a large yawn and Ted followed, yawning nearly in unison.

“Bed?” the older man asked.

Blake lifted his stack of paper in front of his face and stared at it, wondering whether he’d put enough of a dent in the pile to meet his Monday deadline.

“C’mon.” Ted insisted. “You look exhausted – cute, but exhausted.”

“Thanks” Blake said sheepishly, plonking the papers back down on the table.

Ted got up and made his way to his partner’s side and outstretched his hand.

“What if I say ‘no’?” Blake asked, taking the older man’s hand. “Are you going to carry me to bed?”

And with that, Ted pulled Blake out of his chair and lifted him into his arms.

“Oh my god! I was joking! I WAS JOKING!” Blake howled amidst a fit of laughter.

“Too late now!” Ted exclaimed as he whisked Blake to the bedroom.

He laid Blake down on their bed and climbed on top of him. The young blond’s eyes were sparkling and a gleaming smile painted his face with joy.

“My God you are gorgeous” the older man said, running his hand through his partner’s hair. He kissed his young lover softly yet passionately.

“I thought you said I was cute?” Blake asked playfully, his tongue protruding just slightly from between his teeth.

“That too.” Ted kissed him again, this time moving his kiss from the young man’s lips to his neck.

Blake turned his head to the side to allow Ted easier access and spotted their alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. “It’s after midnight” the blond said with a sigh. “Mind if we do this tomorrow?”

“Cute and exhausted. Right.” Ted reminded himself. He smiled and climbed off his partner and headed to the bathroom to commence his nighttime routine.

Meanwhile, Blake made his way over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. The pile of money intended for his mother was still right where he left it and he knew he couldn’t keep it sitting there much longer.

He pushed it from his mind, closed the drawer and removed his shirt and pants, leaving only his underwear, perfect for sleeping in the damp summer heat. He looked over towards the master bathroom. Ted was still brushing his teeth and had yet to wash his face. He would be alone for a few more minutes. So he got up from the bed and walked the few steps to the vanity mirror, turning to look at the purple-grey bruise on his lower back. Twenty-nine years old and he felt like a child again.

Just as he was about to touch the discolored mark on his skin, he heard the water shut off in the bathroom and hurried to bed, throwing the thin, maroon coloured sheet over his body.

Soon, Ted climbed into bed. Seeing that his lover wasn’t yet asleep, the older man couldn’t help but ask him a question. “So…did you have a good time at the dinner?”

Blake was busy staring at the ceiling above him. “Yeah.”

“You and Jenny-Rebecca really seemed to hit it off” Ted remarked.

“Yeah” Blake repeated, this time smiling ever so slightly as he remembered the little girl who mispronounced his name.

“How…how’d you get her to laugh so hard?” Ted asked.

“Hmm?” Blake looked over at Ted this time.

“When you two were watching TV, you made her laugh really loud.”

“Oh…” Blake paused. “I just gobbled my cookie like the cookie monster. You know, from Sesame Street.”

Ted lowered his head and smiled. “They were right you know. You’re a real natural with her. Not like me.”

Blake turned on his side to face Ted, prompting the older man to continue. “I mean, I like kids. I just don’t know what to say or do around them. I clam up. But then, I clam up around pretty much anyone so…”

Blake couldn’t help but smile at Ted’s apprehensiveness, not because he was he was happy, but because the man had no reason to be apprehensive. “They’re only kids, Ted.”

“I know, I know.” Ted huffed. “Only child syndrome, I guess.”

“You never babysat or changed a diaper?” Blake asked.

Ted turned on his side, face to face with his partner now as his tried to recall his life’s encounters with children, which were, at best, few and far between. “I looked after my baby cousin once when I was young…for about twenty minutes. There was no diaper changing involved and I nearly had a heart attack.”

Blake chuckled but quickly steadied himself so as not to make his partner feel silly. “You know, I read this book once that talked about how children are the only real saints on Earth. That time doesn’t give us wisdom, it only strips us of the humanity we were born with. Something like that, anyway.”

Ted’s eyes widened.

“Kids are…” Blake paused. “They’re completely innocent. Totally uncorrupted. There’s nothing to fear.”

Ted smiled a closed mouth smile. He knew his partner’s words were true, but his neuroses overpowered them. “What if I corrupt them though?” he asked.

“What?” Blake was baffled.

“You know…say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing. Or…or hold them too tightly?”

“Ted…”

“Sorry. You’re exhausted. I’ll shut up now.” Ted was about to return to his back when Blake grabbed his forearm and stopped him.

“You’re just overthinking things”, the young man told him with a gentle voice.

“I know” Ted sighed. “It’s what I do.”

“I know” Blake smirked. “But with kids it’s all about instincts. And you’ve got brilliant instincts. You’ve just got to trust them.”

Ted raised his eyebrow and looked at his partner with disbelief.

“You do!” Blake insisted. “You’re gentle and kind and caring. Your instincts are there - your mind just drowns them out sometimes.”

“If only it had an off switch” Ted sighed, scratching his head.

“No, no, no. Your mind’s brilliant too.” Blake assured him. He paused for a moment and spoke again. “Just…next time – try not to use this” the blond said, pulling Ted’s hand away from his head. “Use this.” Blake said, placing his own hand over Ted’s heart. “And you’ll be fine.”

Ted looked at his partner with bewilderment. “Come here” was all he could think to say, pulling his lover close, until the blond’s head was resting on his shoulder. “That book was wrong, you know.”

“Hmm?” Blake mumbled.

Ted kissed the top of his head. “Time has made you very wise.”


	6. Ma and Pa

Blake thumbed a small, rectangular piece of paper in his pocket. Earlier that morning, he had taken the stack of bills intended for his mother, deposited it back into the bank and wrote a check – made out to Jenny Wyzecki.

He waited and waited as the sun shone through the restaurant windows while happy customers clamoured at every table and ate their lunches. Then he saw her. She walked through the restaurant doors, elegant as always, her naturally blonde hair up in a neat pony-tail, the strands swaying to and fro behind her head as she walked.

She was, Blake always thought, the very essence of strength and femininity. Physically she was as delicate as any person could be – barely surpassing five feet tall with slender hips and thighs and not at all busty, and yet she could never be described as fragile. She seemed to have been blessed with the inherent toughness needed to endure her life’s many struggles.

Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw him, a sapphire blue like his. She smiled at him from across the room and politely declined when the hostess offered to seat her. She knew where she was headed. 

She walked over to him and smiled for a moment before wrapping his arms around him. “Hey you” she said, squeezing him tightly. “I almost forgot what it feels like to hug you.”

Her slender forearm pressed into the bruise on his lower back, but he didn’t mind. It felt so good to hug her.

“Almost” she giggled into his ear as she let him go. Then she gazed up at him as if to inspect his entire being. “Well, go on, say something.”

“Sit, sit.” he said, pulling out her chair, then his own. “Do you want anything?” he asked. “I haven’t ordered yet.”

“Just a coffee", she smiled. “I don’t have long. I’ve got another class in about an hour.”

Blake managed to catch a waitress’ attention as she passed the table and placed their order – two coffees. “What class?” he asked.

“Nursing ethics”, she drawled, nearly laughing.

“Really?” he asked with a surprised expression.

“Really.” she confirmed. “Can’t say it’s my favourite class. Too many papers, not enough hands on work.”

“Still managing it all, huh?” he remarked.

“Trying” she said, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Just think, four more months and you’ll be done. Nurse Jenny.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t remind me. Then I’ll have student loans to pay back. A job to find. I swear, school’s a piece of cake compared to real life.”

“Well, you’ll conquer both. I can feel it” Blake said earnestly. He believed it too. His sister was the strongest person he knew. She had somehow been able to handle everything – a gaggle of unruly siblings, an alcoholic father, parents who worked full-time, endless household chores, friends, school – and she did it all without ever complaining or crumbling, even when those around her did.

“Thanks”. She lowered her head bashfully and brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Soon, the waitress returned and set down two small, powder blue mugs between them.

“Just cream?” he asked, grabbing one of the tiny, pre-packaged cylinders of liquid from the edge of the table.

She nodded, still smiling, her eyes never wavering from his face. “I guess you’ll have to be getting back to the centre soon?”

He nodded back at her. “I managed to escape for lunch.”

“They’re not working you too hard, I hope?” she asked.

“Nah. It’s okay. I like being busy” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh my god!“ she shouted suddenly, banging her open palm on the surface of the table. “The program! Did you hear back about the program yet?”

“No” Blake said with a hearty laugh. He had been keeping her informed about the program’s evolution via emails, texts, and the odd phone call. “Not yet.” He told her. “Friday.” 

“You excited?” she asked with a lively grin.

“Trying not to be. You never know.” Blake admitted, raising both his eyebrow and his shoulders.

“Well, they’d be fools not to say yes, and I’m sure they will” she said earnestly.

Blake nodded along, as a question gnawed at the back of his mind. “How is everyone?” he asked.

“Ah, you want the full report!” she remarked with a mock sense of seriousness. “Well, the house is almost empty now. The twins moved out. You knew that. But now Megan’s moved in with them. They’re all happy to be on their own.”

“I bet”, he affirmed. He knew just how freeing it felt to get out from under that roof.

“And I’m in residence, of course” she continued, taking in a large breath. “So it’s just mom, dad, and Grace. And mom and dad are...well, they’re mom and dad.”

“And Gracie?” he asked, using her childhood nickname without even thinking.

“She’s...good. She’s quiet. Keeps to herself a lot”, she told him. “I usually try to take her out a few times a month, you know, to the movies, shopping - just to get her out of that house, but it’s getting tricky with exams and everything.”

Blake nodded in understanding, a pang of guilt hitting his stomach. He had seen her a few times since getting clean, usually on birthdays and Christmas, and always outside of the family home. Without fail, their father would make a scene, and the chaos and chatter of having the entire family together left little room for quality time with his youngest sister, and little room for her young voice even to be heard. 

“She asks about you all the time, you know” Jenny said, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Really?” Blake asked, trying to hide his disbelief.

She nodded. “She wants to know where you are, how you’re doing. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“I’m surprised she’d even remember me.” Blake said, scratching the back of his head.

“Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed. “That girl adored you. You were favourite person growing up. I don’t think she ever left your side.”

“She didn’t” he confirmed, the corner of his mouth turning upwards into a slight smile. “She even followed me into the bathroom a few times.”

“See?” Jenny said with a chuckle.

For a moment, Blake remembered the young girl clinging to his side, taking “horsy” rides on his back, and begging to hear a bedtime story. When he pictured her, even now, it was always as a tiny toddler, despite the fact that she was, in fact, a teenager.

“I still can’t believe she’s fourteen”, he lamented.

“Neither can I” she agreed. “Baby Gracie.”

“I guess that makes us a couple of old fogies, huh?” he quipped.

“Speak for yourself” she retorted playfully. “So, what about you? How are you? And how’s the man of your dreams doing?”

Blake laughed. “He’s good.”

“Still sweeping you off your feet on a regular basis then, I take it?” she asked light-heartedly.

Blake’s mouth widened into a cheeky grin as he remembered quite literally being swept off his feet a few nights earlier. “Yep”, he told her. “Always does.”

“Ah, eternal romance”, she sighed. “Sounds lovely.”

“It’s pretty great” he remarked, momentarily picturing the man’s kind eyes in his mind.

“Any idea where I can find a man like that?” she asked only half jokingly. “He doesn’t have a brother, does he?” she enquired, her eyes widening playfully.

“Only child. Sorry” he told her, a humorous looking frown crossing his face.

“Darn!” she said with a smile. “So, when do I get to meet this superman? I’ve only been hearing tales of his greatness for the last six years.”

“Maybe you can come over for dinner sometime? Bring Gracie too.” He couldn’t quite believe he made the invitation. He had wanted so badly to shelter Ted from his world, but being with Jenny now was a reminder of just how much he loved her, and just how eager she was to meet the man he loved. Now he thought it might be nice to give Ted a proper introduction to the two members of his family to whom he had always been closest.

“I’d love that. I’m sure Gracie would too”, Jenny said with a smile. “I’ve got exams for the next week and half, but once that’s over, I’ll be a bit more sane.

“You’re always sane.” Blake smirked. “I’ll check with Ted when I get home tonight and I’ll send you some dates and times. We’ll figure something out.”

“Good” she said with a firm nod before they each took a sip of their coffee.

“So, how about you?” she asked, lifting the rim of the mug from her lips. “You never told me how you are?”

It was the question he had been dreading, and he had hoped he had deflected it with the talk of Ted, but he knew she would ask until she got an answer. ”I’m fine, yeah. I’m good.” he told her.

“Uh-oh. ‘Fine’. I don’t like the sound of that”, she said in a light teasing tone.

“No, no. Really, I’m good” he assured her with a closed mouth smile.

The mood suddenly became serious. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “I figured you had to ask me here for a reason.”

“Nothing’s wrong” he told her earnestly “I just wanted to give you something.” He rustled for the check inside his pocket and then slid it across the table.

“Blake...” her mouth fell open as soon as her eyes fixed on the small piece of paper. “What is this?”

“It’s a check” he said with a smirk.

“I can see that” she told him, staring at it with her mouth agape.

“Half of it’s for you. The other half is for the rest of the family”, he explained. 

He never mentioned how he had sent the money to their mother first or told her of the encounter with their father that followed. He knew that would involve a great deal of explaining on his part, and more importantly, a great deal of worrying on hers. Besides, he figured his mother had probably never seen the money or the letter he sent, and that his father would be too proud to mention that someone felt the need to send the family money, even if that someone was his son.

“I know how dad gets around this time of year. I’m sure he’ll have a few good benders” he told her instead. It was true and it was much simpler.

She glanced up at him knowingly.

“So pay the bills with it” he continued. “Fix whatever needs fixing, whatever you want. I know you’ll spend it wisely. And make sure you use half of it for yourself. Be a bit selfish for once.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Blake, you don’t have to...” she said, sliding the check back towards her brother.

“Yes, I do.” Blake said firmly, stopping her hand halfway across the table. “Just take it, okay?” he said, squeezing her hand. “To be honest, I wish I could give it all to you – help you pay for school and everything.”

“You don’t have to pay for my school, alright” she told him, placing her free hand on top of his. “I can handle it.”

“I know.” Blake said with a smile. “You can handle anything. You always could. But if anyone deserves a helping hand, it’s you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and her eyes filled with tears.

“This won’t be the last of it either” he insisted. “I’ll be working lots of overtime, whether or not this program thing works out, and it’s about time I start chipping in.”

She placed her hand on her chest as if to steady herself. “Are you sure?” she asked. It was all she could muster.

“I’m sure”, he told her. “I haven’t been a very good big brother to you or to anyone in this family, really. And this hardly makes up for anything, but I finally have money to give, so...”

“You were always a great big brother” she said, letting her hand fall from her chest. “You still are.”

He lowered his head bashfully and shook it from side to side. “Take it, okay?” he said, looking up at her.

She saw the earnestness in his eyes and couldn’t argue. “...thank you”, she said with a sniffle. She picked up the check in her hands and stared at it a moment longer until she realized the time. “I should be going. Class starts soon” she said, folding the check, putting it in her wallet, then searching for some change to pay for her coffee.

“Don’t" he said, putting a halt to her search. “I got it.”

She let out a brief chuckle, wiped the tears from her eyes and rose from her seat. 

Blake followed suit and soon she stood in front of him, her eyes beaming with gratitude, until her arms found their way around his torso once again. “Thank you” she repeated, rustling her right hand through the strands of hair on the back of his head. “Send me those dates and times, okay?”

He nodded against her shoulder and she let go, looking up at him still. “We always did make a good team, you and I” she remarked with a sigh, smiling as her eyes shimmered with tears.

“Ma and pa” he said, taking hold of her hand and tilting his head to the side.

“Ma and pa” she repeated, squeezing his hand before she let go and turned toward the restaurant doors.

It was a nickname they had given themselves as teenagers, having found themselves home alone so often, looking after their younger siblings. They would joke, in private of course, that they were the true parental figures of the household. “Ma and pa”. It was silly, they both knew, but it made the long days and nights a little easier and the pressure they were under just a bit more bearable.

Blake smiled to himself as she walked away. He felt like he could breathe again. He felt happy. Happy to have made her happy. Happy just to have seen her. Happy that he would be seeing her again soon.


	7. The Storm

Friday Evening:

Ted and Blake had spent the past few days quite happily. Blake had returned home from lunch with his sister with a little less money to his name, but a renewed energy. His boyish enthusiasm was back, much to Ted’s delight. In the few days that followed, Blake set a date to have his sisters over for a meal as he said he would, once again to his partner’s delight. Ted couldn’t wait to meet them, though he was more than a little nervous about the occasion, worrying that he might fumble over his worlds and make a fool of himself as he always seemed to.

Tonight was different occasion, however, but no less exciting. 

Ted was dashing around the kitchen, bubbling with nervous excitement in anticipation of his partner’s return. It was the big day, in more ways than one.

He trimmed the stems from a fresh bouquet of flowers and placed them at the centre of the dining table as an aria from La Traviata filled the apartment with delicate operatic sounds.

He had just finished checking on the dish in the oven when he heard a knock at the door. He took off his oven mitts and answered it. Immediately, he felt a pang of nervous energy hit his stomach. “Mr. Wyzecki….” he said, his mouth agape.

“Walt” the dishevelled, older man corrected.

“Walt.” Ted stammered, catching a glimpse of the man's bloodshot eyes.

“Fred, was it?”, Walt asked.

“It’s Ted.” He could tell right away that Walt had been drinking, though he wasn’t sure how much. There was a distinct smell of alcohol on his breath, but the man was still standing, and he seemed able to speak, even if he couldn’t remember a simple, one syllable name. 

Still, Ted was becoming increasingly uneasy. “Listen, um…Blake isn’t here right now, so I don’t know if…” he began, hoping the man would turn around and leave.

“But he will be, right?” the older man interrupted.

“Well, yes…but…” Ted started to say. Then Walt reached up and scratched his brow, and he noticed the bloody, torn skin on the knuckles of the man’s right hand. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Hm?” Walt grunted.

“Your hand.”

“Its fine”, Walt said gruffly. “So, can I come in or what?”

Ted paused and glanced once more at the man’s hand. He wished for a moment that he could summon some of Brian Kinney's courage. That he could simply tell the man to leave, close the door, and that would be that. But alas, he was and forever would be Ted - the man who's heart never failed to rule his head, even when his head knew better. And right now, his heart told him to let the man in. He was wounded after all, and while he may have made a rather horrible first impression, he was still the father of the man he loved.

"Sure” Ted said cautiously, opening the door wide enough for Walt to enter the apartment. As he shut the door behind him, he closed his eyes briefly, praying that he hadn’t made a colossal mistake by allowing the man inside, while at the same time hoping he would be gone before Blake arrived home. “Let me see if we have something for that” he said, gesturing towards Walt’s hand. “You can have a seat if you want.”

Ted hurried off to the bathroom and searched through the vanity cabinet. Soon, he found what he was looking for – a tiny first aid kit his mother had bought him many years ago when he first moved into the apartment. “Just in case you ever need it. It’s always good to have around”, she told him. 

“There should be something in here” Ted said, returning to the living room with the small white box to find Walt staring at something on the wall.

“Master’s of Business Administration” Walt read it aloud.

Ted smiled just slightly and placed the first aid kit on the coffee table.

“Impressive” Walt remarked. 

“Not really.” Ted said sheepishly. “All it really means is I know how to use a calculator.”

Next Walt wondered to a shelf on the wall beside the couch. His eyes skimmed a row of framed 4x6 photographs, each one capturing the smiling faces of strangers embraced in happy moments – and his son, who had the brightest smile of them all. He paused and picked one up off the wooden ledge. “So when is he due back?”, he asked, staring at the photograph.

“Blake? Um, I’m not sure.” Ted looked down at his watch. “Should be within the next half an hour.” 

Ted moved in closer and peered over the man’s shoulder to see which of the photos he had picked up. He could only catch a glimpse of its top half, but he recognized it immediately. It was taken by Ben on Blake’s most recent birthday. He and Blake were seated together on the sofa in their apartment, both adorned in ridiculously oversized purple birthday hats. Blake’s eyes were scrunched shut and he had a full, gleaming smile on his face as Ted kissed his left cheek. 

“That was a fun day.” Ted cleared his throat, unsure of what to say next. “It was Blake’s birthday…”

“I can see that” the older man said, taking note of the birthday hats and placing the photo back in its spot on the wooden ledge.

“Can I…can I get you anything to drink?” Ted asked. He was hesitant to offer the man a drink, but it seemed inhospitable not to, especially given the state of his hand. 

“I could use a coffee” the older man said, still staring at the row of photographs.

“Sure. Black, right?” Ted remembered from the man's last unannounced visit.

Walt nodded without turning to face him and Ted went to the kitchen to prepare the drink. 

Eventually Walt took a seat on the sofa, and a few minutes later, Ted returned with a mug of piping hot liquid. He placed it down on the coffee table next to the first aid kit and took a seat on the sofa, leaving plenty of room between himself and his partner’s father. 

The two men sat in awkward silence, anchoring either end of the sofa, as their eyes fluttered absentmindedly around the room. 

Eager to busy his mind with something, Ted grabbed the first aid kit and began to rummage through it. “I think we have some bandages in here for that hand.”

“No, thanks.” Walt’s reply was abrupt and left no room for convincing.

Ted was quick to close the first aid kit and return it to its resting place on the coffee table. “How’d it happen? Your hand, I mean?”, he asked.

“Had an accident at work” the older man said, reaching up to scratch his brow again.

It seemed perfectly plausible, Ted thought. The man worked in a factory, no doubt using his hands throughout the day. If he were to be injured at work, his hands were most likely to be victim.

"Well, you're welcome to clean up your hands in our bathroom. It's just around that corner, on your right" Ted told him. "Don't want to get an infection."

“You a doctor or somethin’?” Walt asked, picking at the dried blood on his knuckles.

Ted couldn’t tell whether Walt’s question was one of seriousness or sarcasm, but he maintained a polite, modest approach. “Me? No, no. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever even opened that thing”, he said, ignoring the fact that he had already told the man about his working for Kinnetic, and that minutes ago, he had seen his business degree on the wall. 

Just then, spurred by the mention of the medical field, Ted remembered one of the very few tidbits of information he knew about the Wyzecki family. “Your daughter…um… Jenny? She’s studying to be a nurse, isn’t she?” he asked, eager to gain whatever insight he could into his partner’s tightly guarded world.

“As far as I know” Walt replied with a gruff, cavalier voice that seemed to suggest he had little interest in or knowledge of his daughter’s studies.

Ted swallowed awkwardly at the man’s tone. “You must be very proud” he said, hoping to extract a more humane response.

Instead Walt gazed at the dining table, the fingers of his left hand still picking at the knuckles on his right. “What is it this time? Caviar?” he asked nonchalantly.

Ted shook his head. “No, no. I’ve never eaten caviar, actually” he told him, trying his best to deflate whatever inflated ideas the man had about him. “Anyway… “, he continued. “It’s just a chicken dish. It’s one of Blake’s favourites. He makes it all the time, but this is my first try.”

His words garnered no response, so he cleared his throat and continued to fill the silence “Actually...Blake’s supposed to find out the big decision about his new rehab program today. I’m not sure if you remem-"

“I remember” Walt uttered curtly. “So this is a dinner to celebrate?”

“Yes.” Ted smiled. “That’s the plan, anyway.”

“But you don’t know the answer yet” Walt said matter-of-factly.

“Sorry?”

“You’re making a celebration dinner and you don’t know the answer yet. What if it’s a ‘no’?” Walt asked with a complete sense of detachment.

The smile fell from Ted’s face. “I really don’t think it will be”, he insisted. “They love him down at the center.”

A long, tense silence followed and finally, Ted took a moment to look at the man. A week ago, when Walt had arrived at their door for the first time, he had been so wrapped up in trying to make a good first impression that he hadn’t actually stopped to look at him, really look at him. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the man’s skin, speckled, aged, and worn by time. His hair was all shades of gray and his eyes, though blue, were heavy and tired, devoid of that bright, joyous spark that so often filled his son’s gaze.

Just then, Ted heard a key slide into the lock in the front door. He sprang from the sofa to greet his partner and before he knew it, the door had opened and the blond’s arms were wrapped around his neck, a huge gleaming grin on his face. “They said ‘yes’! They said ‘yes’!”.

For a brief moment, Ted forgot all about Walt who was still seated on the sofa behind them. He could do nothing but focus on the joy radiating from the young man whose face was inches from his own. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed as the blond kissed him excitedly, standing on his tip toes with his arms still draped around the older man’s neck. 

But Blake’s lips fell away, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his father sitting in the distance, averting his eyes from their display of affection.

Ted watched the smile fall from his partner’s lips and immediately tried to explain Walt’s presence, but was soon tripping over his words as usual. “Your dad was…well he… I mean he…”

“Hi” Walt blurted out, cutting Ted’s rambling short.

“…Hi” Blake’s voice was cautious. He wiped the dampness from his lips and looked down at his suit, hoping that his father wouldn't begin spouting remarks about his formal attire as he had done before.

The blond wasted little time removing his suit jacket and hanging it on the coat rack just inside the front door. Though the anger and tension he felt from his father’s last visit still lingered within him, he was determined to remain calm. Very quickly, he noticed the dinner table, beautifully set with candles ablaze and a fresh bouquet of flowers at the centre. He looked at Ted with bright, shimmering eyes and asked, "You did all this?”

Ted lowered his head bashfully. “I wanted it to be a surprise…a celebration.”

“But you didn’t even know what their answer would be” Blake said, unknowingly echoing his father’s scepticism.

Ted smiled and placed his hand on the blond’s shoulder. “I knew”, he said. 

“Thank you” Blake said, kissing Ted’s cheek lightly. “It looks amazing.”

Ted’s smile widened, but soon faltered when he noticed his partner look up at him with concern.

“Are you alright?” Blake asked, having spotted the first aid kit sitting on the coffee table.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Ted assured him. “It’s um…it’s your father’s..."

Still sitting on the sofa, Walt lifted his hand in the air, leaving it there until it caught Blake’s eye. “How’d you do that?”, the blond asked, staring at the dried blood on his father's knuckles.

“Had an accident at work”, Walt said plainly, providing the same explanation he had given Ted earlier.

Blake had plenty of reason to doubt the truthfulness of his father’s words, especially given the fact that was sure the man had been drinking – it was Friday night, after all. But he nodded, choosing for now at least, not to pry any further in an attempt to keep the peace. He joined Ted in the kitchen, sniffing the air as he made his way to his partner’s side. He recognized the scent almost instantly. “You made the chicken thing!” he exclaimed, bending over to peer into the oven.

Ted tilted his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders. “I tried to make the chicken thing”.

Blake smiled at the man’s familiar bout of self-deprecation and placed a reassuring hand on his chest. “Thank you, really. I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Oh! And I called Ben this morning and got his risotto recipe” Ted said, lifting the lid from one of two pots on the stovetop. “You know, the one you liked from the dinner party?”

Blake stared at the contents of the pot, a bewildered expression on his face.

“What?" Ted asked with a hint of worry. "Does it look wrong? I knew it looked wrong.”

The truth was, the blond was just too overwhelmed with gratitude to speak. “No, no. It’s…great”, he finally managed to say, still staring at the freshly made risotto.

Ted smiled bashfully, once again. “So, wait, tell me everything!” he insisted, putting the focus back on his partner. “They said yes?”

“They said yes” Blake confirmed, this time a little less enthusiastically. 

“…and…” Ted prodded with a smile. “Here, come sit down. Tell me…tell us all about. Dinner won’t be ready for another half hour. Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you’d be home.” 

Blake chuckled at the man’s eagerness, but gulped when he realized his partner had used the word “us”, rather than “me”. In the midst of his excitement, he had almost forgotten there was a third person in the room and though he had little desire to share the details of his day with his father, he wasn’t about to let the man’s presence dampen Ted’s spirits or his own. 

So he followed Ted to the living room where he took a seat in an armchair across from the sofa. “There’s not much to tell really”, he admitted. “The whole thing’s going to take a while to get up and running.”

“But what did they say?” Ted asked, still eager a full account of his partner's day. “I mean, I know they said ‘yes’, but that can’t be all they said.”

Blake exhaled and smiled modestly, finally giving into Ted’s request. “They said…they said they’re thrilled to have the program. That it uh…what did they say? That it’s ‘sure to make a big difference in patient outcomes.’ That it ‘fills a great need’, ‘serves a great purpose’” Blake shrugged, keeping his eyes focused mostly on his partner, but peeking every so often to see if his father was showing any signs of interest. 

Ted’s eyes filled with pride and admiration as he heard the young blond speak. He reached over and put his hand atop his partner’s. “I’m so proud of you” he told him, with every bit of happiness and genuine affection he could muster. He then gazed momentarily at Walt expecting a similar sentiment or at least a hint of a smile, but Walt simply clung to his coffee mug with both hands and stared into it.

“Really, that’s amazing. Not that I’m surprised.” Ted continued, filling Walt’s silence and squeezing Blake’s hand to provide some added reassurance.

“So what’s this program thing anyway?” Walt asked, suddenly involving himself in the conversation, though he barely parted his lips as he spoke.

“You sure you want to know?” Blake asked, taken aback by the question.

Walt raised his eyebrows. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“Okay…” Blake began hesitantly. “Um, well…the program is for patients who are close to completing their treatment. We want to equip them with the tools they need to face the outside world…to reintegrate. We’re trying to prevent relapse – stop the cycle of addiction, the revolving door. We haven’t done a very good job of that in the past. Once patients leave treatment, it’s really out of our hands, so we’re just trying to make sure that they’re prepared, and that they’ve got the proper support systems in place before they leave. You know, a good foundation to begin the rest of their lives.”

Walt's eyebrows were still raised. "You tryin’ to recruit me?” he asked, tapping on his mug with his pointer finger.

“No. Just answering your question.” Blake said simply.

Then Walt stopped tapping and made eye contact with his son for the first time that evening. 

For a brief moment, Blake sensed a slight softness in his father’s gaze. “...but our doors are always open”, he added, staring at him knowingly until the older man looked away.

Just then, the oven’s timer beeped and Ted sprang from the sofa. Once in the kitchen, he called out to Blake. “Would you mind giving me a hand for a minute?”

Blake stopped gazing at his father and jumped up, eager to help in any way he could. Once he was in the kitchen, Ted revealed the truth. "I didn't really need your help.” he whispered in the young man’s ear. “I just...do you want your dad to stay for dinner? I wasn't going to invite him to stay unless you said it was okay.”

Blake looked at his father nervously. "Is there enough food?" he asked with great hesitation.

“There’s more than enough” Ted smiled, noticing the bit of hopefulness in his partner’s voice.

"You sure?" Blake asked. "You have a say too, you know."

“Sure, I'm sure.” Ted insisted.

Blake took another look at his father and nodded. The hint of softness he had just seen in the man’s eyes, along with the day’s good news had combined to create a renewed sense of optimism.

So they invited Walt to stay, and for a while, things seemed to go smoothly. The three men ate dinner, and though Walt remained quiet, Blake was happy to fill the silence with dozens of compliments about Ted’s skills as a chef.

Just as their plates were nearly empty, Walt cleared his throat to speak. “So, you get a raise for this program thing?” he asked. It was as if he had been biding his time, waiting to ask that particular question since his son walked into the apartment.

“No, no.” Blake answered honestly. “Not yet anyway. Maybe somewhere down the road. I will have to work a lot of overtime though, that’s for sure.” 

“I guess I’ll have to perfect my dinner making skills now that you’ll be working more often” Ted chimed in.

“Sorry.” Blake pointed sheepish smile pointed in Ted’s direction.

“It’s okay.” Ted told him. “I’ll cook the dinners if it helps you save the world. They might not be good dinners, but I’ll cook them.”

“They’re great dinners, Ted. Really.” The young blond said, chuckling until his father spoke again.

“All that and no raise?” the old man said glibly.

“I didn’t do it for the money” Blake told him earnestly, tensing at his father’s tone.

Walt took a slurped sip of his coffee. “Right. Your miracles are free” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Blake stopped chewing his food as he felt the dread set in. He instantly regretted ever asking the man to stay.

"They’re still miracles though, right." Ted added nervously, smiling briefly in Blake's direction, then looking back at Walt. 

“It’s not always about money.” Blake said, as innocently as he could muster.

“Really?” Walt asked with mock expression of surprise.

Blake looked at his father, baffled, his brow furrowing just slightly.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Walt said smugly. “I get home yesterday and suddenly we have a fridge full of food, the bill collectors stopped calling, that old hole in the wall somehow got fixed.” 

For a split second, Blake was happy to hear that his sister had put his money to good use. Then he returned to reality. “And you’re angry about this because?” he asked with a deflated sigh.

“Well, all those things cost money. Money I don’t have. Unless I won the lottery or somethin’ and nobody told me. That money could only come from one place." Walt looked at his son with an accusatory stare.

Blake rolled his eyes and got up from his chair, eager to defuse the escalating situation. “Listen, I think you should leave now” he told his father, as Ted got up too.

But Walt followed his son into the kitchen. “What I wanna know is how you got it back to her?”

“That’s really none of your business” Blake retorted, determined to keep the meeting between he and his sister a secret. 

He headed back to the dinner table to avoid further questioning and busied himself clearing the plates. Then grabbed his father’s coffee mug and lifted it to his nose, checking whether his growing suspicions were correct. And they were. He was hit immediately with the familiar stench of liquor. "Where is it?" he asked his father, as he brought the mug to the kitchen sink and dumped it out 

"Where's what?” Walt asked.

"You know what I’m talking about." Blake said with another deflated sigh. "That mug was full but there was barely any coffee in it.”

"Nothin' gets past you, does it?" Walt said, lifting a flask of whisky from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Why don’t you have some?” he asked, shaking the liquor from side to side. “Celebrate this marvellous occasion!” He father took a large swig. “Oh that’s right. The addict doesn’t drink. You should try it some time. Maybe you wouldn’t be so light on your feet.”

Blake was flooded with anger at his words and his factions, but he paused for moment. Then he held out his hand. "Fine, you want me to try it. Hand it over."

Walt looked at him and smirked, thinking he was calling his son’s bluff.

"C'mon.” Blake insisted. “I wanna celebrate too."

Walt’s smirk grew and he handed the scotch to his son. 

Blake looked at the flask for a moment, feeling its shiny metal surface in his hands. He knew what he was going to do.

Walt grabbed his son's shirt as soon as he saw him turn toward the sink. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?", he raged.

Blake poured the remaining liquid down the sink and let the flask crash into the basin. He turned to face his father, who still clung to his shirt, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Saving you from yourself" he answered, with an air of confidence.

Walt rolled his eyes and pushed his palm against his son's chest, until the blond’s back was pressed up against the kitchen counter as it had been during his last visit. "Mr. Miracle Worker to the rescue, huh?" he spat. "Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“I’m sure there is." Blake conceded. "You somehow found the money for that, didn’t you?

“Hey!" Walt barked. "If I wanna have a drink on a Friday night after a long day on the job, I will. At least I earn my money!”

“So do I.” Blake retorted

“Really?" Walt turned toward Ted. "Just how long have you been scrounging off him and his fancy degree, huh?”

“He doesn’t scrounge off me” Ted interjected, stepping forward, eager to defend his partner.

“I bring home a pay check every week, same as you” Blake told his father.

“Sure, now. But what about before? Drugs ain’t cheap.” Walt stepped back from his son and looked him and down. “Your knees must have gotten real sore", he drawled in an a condescending tone.

“Excuse me?” Blake asked in utter disbelief.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re too much of a pussy to steal anything and no minimum wage job-if you even had one- is gonna support that kinda habit. So you sold the only thing you could sell. Ain't much of prize, but I guess somebody's gotta have a thing for scrawny mamma's boys. He pointed to Ted. “He did, right?"

Blake stared at his father with a blank, defeated gaze.

“Not gonna deny it, eh? Didn’t think so.” Walt moved in closer until he was inches from his son's face. “You see we all do it for the money, Blakey. And I sure as hell don't need yours. Shit's probably got cum stains all over it", he said stumbling backward, a smug, self-satisfied smirk swept across his face.

Blake wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk from his face, so he hit back with the words he knew would sting his father most. "Look, if it bothers you so much, why don't you just pay me back?"

Walt’s entire body quivered with rage as he searched for something to say.

"Didn't think so" Blake said, repeating his father’s words.

In an instant, Walt snapped. His curled fist hit the left side of Blake’s face with such force that the blond fell backwards, slamming into the kitchen cabinets before sinking to the floor.

And then Ted froze. He watched Walt huffing like a wild animal as he stood over his partner. "Hey! Hey!" he shouted, regaining use of his limbs and springing into action. He quickly positioned himself between Walt and his partner, keeping one hand on Walt shoulder, holding him firmly at arm's length. "You need to leave now!", he demanded.

"Or what?" Walt roared, shrugging Ted's hand from his shoulder and turning to face him. "What're you gonna do about it? C'mon!" he bellowed, stepping forward as if to provoke an attack. "I'd be a fair fight. We're practically the same age!"

Blake managed to regain his breath and pull himself to his feet, quickly stepping in front of Ted. "Nothing!", he spat out forcefully. "He's not going to do anything. He's not like you - punching people to get his point across. He's gentle."

"Gentle!” Walt screeched.

Blake’s eyes slammed shut.

“He's gentle?" Walt cackled. "We'll fuck me, Blakey! You're even more of a fairy than I thought you were! Gentle. Tell me, how much you charge for gentle? Is that extra?"

"Get out!" Blake commanded, his voice as sharp and as fragile as glass.

But Walt ignored his son's demands and continued his rampage. “He doesn’t know thing one about you, does he? He thinks you really are some kinda save the world, miracle worker. But that ain’t you, Blakey. Why don't you tell him why you really sent the money, huh?”

Blake looked at his father with a baffled expression, hoping deep down that the man wasn’t about say what he thought he might.

"Don't play dumb.” Walt said. “You see, I didn’t realize it at first, but this is guilt money is what this is. It is August, after all. Only you're twenty years too late." 

Blake looked away from his father's steely gaze and swallowed.

"There you go. You got it now", Walt drawled. "Go on, tell him!"

"He doesn't have to tell me anything." Ted interjected sternly, standing firm at Blake's side. "Now would you please just le-"

"He died". The words fell from Blake's mouth in a tone Ted hadn't heard before - high pitched and breathy, as if his throat was tightly clenched.

"That's right" Walt cooed, looking at Ted. "He died because this one didn't keep his word. I go out for a couple hours, tell him to keep an eye on the kids, but he doesn't even notice when his own brother grabs my rifle from under my bed and starts playin' with it. Guess he didn’t realize it was loaded. Next thing you know, kid shoots himself right in the chest. BAM!” Walt roared, slamming his open palm against the countertop. “Dead.”

Blake’s entire body shuddered and tensed at the sound and he turned toward the safety of the kitchen cabinets, pressing his forehead against them and closing his eyes.

"All because this one couldn't follow simple instructions", Walt hissed. "Like I said - guilt money. And I don't want it."

Ted was speechless and his eyes darted feverishly between Blake and Walt.

"And this kid coulda been somebody" Walt continued, oblivious to the destruction he had caused. "Had a pitch like a major leaguer. Took after his daddy. Kid wasn't no mamma's boy."

Blake hated that word - ‘kid’. It was too detached. Too impersonal. So he uttered the only four letter word that had been forbidden in his father’s house: “Adam”. He whispered it lightly into the cabinet doors.

"Hmm? Speak up, Blakey.”

"His name was Adam, not "kid” Blake said, turning to face his father. “Twenty years and you still can't say his name."

Suddenly, Walt lunged forward and grabbed Blake’s shirt collar. The man was once again inches from his face. "That's right, his name was Adam. His name was Adam and you killed him! You killed my son!" he raged. 

Then Walt shouted it again, only this time the anger in his voice was replaced with sadness. “You killed my son!”

It was the first time Blake had seen any sort of crack in his father’s tough, heartless veneer. The first time he had heard his voice tremble rather than quake. The first time he had seen him for what he truly was – a sad, insecure man who had spent the last twenty years drowning his own guilt and sorrow in liquor. He had always known this about his father subconsciously, of course. It was just the first time he had seen it. 

So Blake looked at his father and said the only thing he could think to say. "I am your son." The words were choked, as if he was afraid to hear himself say it.

Then the rage in Walt’s eyes began to melt away and his clenched fist loosened until he let go completely. He took a step back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before stumbling out of the apartment and slamming the door behind him.


	8. Leaving Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of departure as it’s written from Blake’s POV, in first person (the story hasn’t changed though). I’ve never written any stories in first person before, so if you’ve got any feedback or constructive criticism, that would be lovely :)

Blake's POV:

For a moment, I felt alright. It felt good to have said it. “I am your son”. To have defeated him and his curled fist with four little words. It felt even better to see him crack, even just for a moment. To see something other than rage fill his eyes.

And then I saw him. Ted – standing there frozen with his mouth open, this look of utter horror on his face. I felt my chest tighten and I headed for the bathroom before he could do or saying anything. I knew I couldn’t leave the apartment – yet - or I would be following quite literally in my father’s footsteps. So I waited. I turned on the tap to make it seem like I was actually using the room for its intended purpose. I wasn’t, of course, but that didn’t matter.

After a few minutes, I emerged from the bathroom, and there he was again. “I need some air”, I told him, though I’m sure neither of us really knew what that meant. All I did know was that I couldn’t look at him. And I couldn’t let him look at me. Not like that. I knew from experience that if he looked at me in a certain way, I had no choice but to be vulnerable. I wanted so badly to be brave, to stay, to let him in, but I couldn’t. And I knew it was inevitable – that look - so I left.

I only made it as far as the steps outside our building. I sat there on the cool concrete with my elbows on my knees and my hands scrunched in my hair. Breathe. Just breathe, I told myself. I didn’t know whether I wanted to scream or cry, whether I was angry at myself or at my father, or whether the man I loved would still love me after everything he had just seen and heard.

My life seemed to move in circles, never forward, and my past seemed always determined to ruin my present. And this time, it had. Suddenly, I was eighteen again. Running again. Afraid again. And hurting the very people I cared about most.

As I watched as the cars stream by, their headlights piercing through the balmy evening fog like needles, I remembered that awful night – the night that was just like this one in so many ways, when I left my home and my family more than a decade ago.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I returned from my part-time job and opened the front door of my house to find my three year old sister climbing the baby gate at the top of the basement steps. “Gracie, what are you doing?” I yelped, darting to grab her before she toppled over the other side and tumbled down the cascading blocks of concrete below.

“I was asking daddy for a snack, but he’s sleeping” she said, lifting up her right arm and pointing to the basement.

I followed the tip of her tiny finger and peered down the staircase. “You’re right” I told her, doing my best to mask the sudden rage that flooded my body. “Daddy is sleeping.”

Of course, he wasn’t ‘sleeping’ at all. He was passed out in his favourite recliner as usual, mouth agape, his hand still wrapped around the base of a scotch class sitting on the table to his left. I would have gone down to check if he was still breathing, but it was easy to see his sizable gut rising and falling with every breath, even in our dimly lit basement.

“C’mon, Gracie” I said, heading to the kitchen with her on my hip. “Let’s get you a snack”.

Soon I was greeted as I nearly always was by a large pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a counter lined with remnants of the day’s meals, and an overflowing trashcan that looked like a volcano about to erupt. I rolled my eyes and suppressed the urge to groan, pushing the familiar, loathsome sight from my mind.

“Now, what would you like?” I asked her, hoping she wouldn’t want something that required me to actually cook. I had already made dinner earlier that evening and given my increasing exhaustion and the state of our kitchen, I wasn’t keen on whipping up yet another meal.

Without stopping to think, she blurted out her request: “Cheewios”, she said. Despite my forlorn mood, I couldn’t help but smile, both because of her inability to pronounce the brand of her favourite cereal, and because pouring a bowl of that cereal required absolutely zero culinary effort on my part.

“Okay. Cheewios it is” I said, playfully mocking her childish mispronunciation in an attempt to brighten both of our moods.

I turned around and grabbed the jumbo-sized yellow box from the top shelf of our pantry. Thankfully and shockingly, it was almost full. I should have put her down at this point, but instead I tried to juggle her and the cereal like some sort of octopus. I grabbed the milk, her favourite pink bowl, a small spoon and somehow managed to pour her a pint-sized helping of cereal – not too much milk, the way I knew she liked it. But as I turned to place the bowl on our kitchen table so she could eat, her elbow collided with the oversized box of cereal. It toppled over, but remained on the counter, teetering on its edge as the little O’s fell to the floor like rain.

I closed my eyes and internally spouted about a dozen curse words. “Uh oh”, I heard Gracie say.

“It’s okay”, I told her as I finally set her feet down on the floor. “Come sit and eat while I clean this up.”

I put the bowl on the kitchen table like I had meant to and grabbed the broom as she took a seat and began shovelling spoonfuls of the remaining O’s into her mouth.

It wasn’t long before I realized that those little bits of cereal had gone everywhere. Literally everywhere. And I knew if I didn’t get every last one up off the floor, I’d hear about it the next morning. So I got down on my hands and knees to retrieve the few pieces that had wedged themselves underneath the stove. That’s when I heard a crunch.

I looked up and realized it wasn’t my hands or my knees doing the crunching, but my father’s feet. He came lumbering into the kitchen, carelessly trampling over several O’s as he did. Truthfully, I was surprised he could even walk.

“Wonderful” he drawled sarcastically, looking down at me with a stupid, drunken grin on his face.

I rose to my feet and could immediately smell the alcohol on his breath. “I was just cleaning this up” I told him, as I hurried to place the fallen cereal box right side up on the counter. Then I directed my attention to my sister. “Gracie, why don’t you go eat that in your room, okay?” She didn’t need to be around to witness her father drunkenness, even though I knew she had seen it many times before.

“I’ll be in to say goodnight in a minute” I told her, as she took the bowl in her hands and teetered off to her bedroom.

“What a fuckin’ waste” my father spat bitterly, before she was even out of earshot. “Scuze me, I need a drink” he said, pushing past me and reaching into the cupboard over the stove.

My oldest sister Jenny and I had nicknamed it “The Booze Box”. It was home to nearly every type of alcoholic beverage imaginable, although scotch was his favourite, which made no sense at all to either of us, as it was also among the most expensive items in the liquor store. But it never seemed to matter that we didn’t have a penny to spare. Booze always came first with my father - before his wife, before his children, before his bills, before everything and everyone in his life.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” I asked him as nonchalantly as I could, trying not to let the anger in my body find its way to my voice. But it wasn’t a question really, more of statement. One look at his wobbly legs, red eyes, and drooping eyelids told me he had more than his fill.

“I’m thirsty” he said, looking at me sternly. That was always his excuse - as if liquor was the only liquid capable of relieving his supposed dehydration. The truth was, he’d probably never gone long enough without a drink to experience actual thirst. He wasn’t dehydrated. He was an addict.

I bit my tongue, ignoring him and remaining silent as I continued to sweep. Then I heard the familiar sound of pouring liquid, followed by a loud, obnoxious slurp. “You’re unbelievable” I muttered under my breath as I continued to stare at the powdery mess of crushed cereal he’d spread across the floor. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to hear me or whether I hoped he hadn’t.

“Excuse me?” he uttered with the sternness of steal, lifting the glass from his lips just long enough to allow the words to escape from his mouth.

“Nothing” I replied, focusing once again on the broom in my hand.

I knew that confrontational tone in his voice all too well. He was ready to lose it. Booze always sent him looking for a fight. So I suppressed the frustration bubbling in my veins and decided it was best to simply leave the room without making any unnecessary eye contact. I put the broom back in its usual spot between the fridge and the stove, left the kitchen, and headed for the bathroom.

“You’re not done in here!” I heard my father call out. But I was done. I was done with him. I was done with everything.

Just when I thought I was rid of him, I heard his footsteps thundering behind me. “I’ve gotta use the bathroom”, I said without turning back to look at him. I focused instead on the little red room at the end of the hall and quickened my pace. A few more steps and I could shut the bathroom door behind me and forget all about him. But before I could reach my destination, I felt his hand clutch around the back of my neck. He shoved me forward into the bathroom, my feet almost lifting from the carpet as he tightened his grip.

“What are you doing?” I yelped in equal parts anger and fear, wincing as his fingernails dug into my skin.

“What day is it?” he barked, holding me firmly in front of the bathroom mirror.

“What?” I asked him, forcing my clenched eyelids open.

“What day is it?” he repeated, this time with even more force.

“F-f-f-Friday?” I said, stuttering like some scared idiot. I hoped that was the answer he was looking for.

“That’s right!”, he said. “It’s Friday. You know what that means? That means I’ve worked five long days to support this family and now I wanna have drink in my own Goddamn house! Is that too much to ask?”

“Let go of me” I gritted through my teeth, pulling at his arm. I wasn’t about to answer his question. I was determined not to.

“Come on, Blakey” he cooed in his usual condescending tone. He knew it angered me more than anything.

I looked at him bitterly and clenched my jaw closed.

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” he screeched.

I winced again as his grip around my neck tightened with the rising of his voice.

“I’m waiting…” he said, returning to that tone I hated so much.

Still, I said nothing.

“C’mon, Blakey…”

“You’re hurting me”, I told him. I don’t know why I thought it would make him stop.

“Time’s a tickin’ and I’m gettin’ thirsty”, he said. Then he smirked at me - that smug, self-important smirk that always seemed to crush my very last nerve. And I lost it.

“Go!” I screamed. “Have your drink! Go! Get out!”

His grip began to give way and he stumbled backwards as I wriggled out of his grasp. “Alright. If you insist” he said, throwing me one last drunken grin as he backed out of the bathroom.

In the silence that followed, I heard a door creek open at the end of the hall. Gracie emerged, timidly inching her way from her bedroom. I could tell even from what was a substantial distance that she was close to tears.

My father, however, proceeded to walk right past her, ignoring her whimpers as he went into the kitchen.

“It’s okay, Gracie”, I managed to force out with something resembling a smile.

But she continued to stand and stare, her chin and bottom lip quivering. “It’s okay” I insisted in the most comforting tone I could muster. “Just go back in your room and close the door, okay? I’ll be there in a minute. I promise.”

Eventually, she did as I asked and I let the smile I had forced fall from my face. I closed the bathroom door and rested my forehead against it. Alone at last.

As I felt my nerves begin to steady, I turned to look into the bathroom mirror, examining the scratches and indentations on my neck. He had punctured my skin in two places and there were tiny beads of blood sitting on the surface of my skin. These days, this was the only physical contact I got from my father. Not one hug, not one pat on the head, no “thanks for dinner, son”, or “I’m proud of you, son.” Just this. But maybe it was better than nothing.

I knew I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, so I washed my face and went to my room to change my clothes. I pulled off work uniform and placed it neatly on my dresser. Then I found worn pair of jeans and a grey sweatshirt and slid into them. I would have happily stayed in my room for the remainder of the evening, but I promised Gracie I would be in to say goodnight.

I opened my bedroom door and there he was, waiting for me with a freshly poured drink in his hand. “Ah, Blakey. Now you’re lookin’ more like a Wyzecki” he said, lifting his glass in the air as if to celebrate the momentous occasion.

I ignored his comment and walked in front of him, rubbing the back of my neck as I did to try and show him what he’d done.

“Where you goin’?” he called out.

“To say goodnight to Gracie” I told him, eager to reach her room and return to the privacy and safety of my own.

“Not until you clean that shit up off the floor”, he ordered.

I didn’t listen. And as my hand touched her doorknob and started to turn it, he slid in front of me, draping his arm across the doorway to block me from entering. I could tell he wanted me to put up a fight, so I didn’t. I just rolled my eyes and headed back to the cereal-lined floor.

I thought I would be alone, but he felt the need to stand at the entrance of the kitchen and watch me as I carried out his orders. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I hated the way he delighted in my subordination. “I know how to sweep a floor. You don’t need to supervise me”, I grunted.

“Don’t get smart”, he warned. It was something he loved to say, though I never understood it. Wasn’t that what fathers should want their sons to be? Smart? Last time I checked, intelligence was a desirable trait.

“What should I be then? Stupid?” I asked him. “Maybe then I’d really be more like a Wyzecki.”

I should have known better. He came up behind me and whacked me on the back of the head. I hissed in pain as his fingernails grazed over one of the bloody spots on my neck. I wanted to get away from him now more than ever, but as I turned to leave the room, he grabbed my neck again, this time forcing me down to the floor until I was flat on my stomach with my cheek to the tile. “Does this floor look clean to you?” he raged, as he pressed my face into the ground.

“No.” I mumbled, my flattened cheek muffling my voice.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“NO!” I screamed. It came out even louder than I had intended and despite my best efforts to keep my voice from cracking with emotion, it did.

“Aw, what’s a matter Blakey?” he asked with a make-believe sense of concern. “Someone got your panties in a twist?”

“Get off me!” I wanted it to sound like an order, but it poured from my mouth like a plea. His elbow was digging sharply into my back and I winced until I was halted by the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps. I opened my eyes and her bare feet were already inches from my face. It must have been a pathetic sight. There I was, her eldest brother, her protector, on my stomach with my face squished into bits of cereal on the floor.

Having noticed her presence, my father relinquished his grip on my neck and staggered to his feet. I scrambled up from the floor just as he grabbed hold of her arm. She screamed and wailed as he lifted her and dragged her to her bedroom, dangling her from his hand all the while like some sort of ragdoll.

I managed to grab his shirt from behind just as he dropped her inside her bedroom and slammed the door shut. I reached for the doorknob but he turned to face me, his stocky upper-body blocking the entire doorway. “Let me in!” I demanded.

“What? She’s in her room like you wanted” he said, throwing his arms in the air. “Now you can quit your whinin’ and finish cleanin’ that floor.”

But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. “Move. I mean it.” I ordered from between clenched teeth.

“Or what?” my father asked, with a laugh. “Tell me. What are you gonna do?”

He was right. What was I going to do? Even in his drunken, wobbly state, there was no way I could move him – at least not physically. He was twice my size and determined to stay put. I needed to provoke him. “Look, why don’t you do us all a favour and go back downstairs, have another dink, pass out” I hissed in my sharpest, bitterest tone.

In an instant, he grabbed the scruff of my collar and slammed me up against my sister’s bedroom door. “You listen here, you little shit! This my house and-“

“Your house, your rules” I muttered, finishing his sentence like the robot he wanted me to be.

He said nothing and clenched his fist tighter around the fabric of my collar.

Emboldened by his silence, I raised my voice. “Listen to her! That’s your daughter in there” I told him, testing whatever love for her he might have had.

“She’s fine” he said without the vaguest hint of an emotion, failing my test miserably.

“Fine? Really?” I spat out. “When I came home, she was this close to falling down the stairs.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? I put the baby gait up.”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s almost four years old! She can practically climb the thing! Which is exactly what she was doing when I walked in the door.”

“Well…” my father said, pausing as his alcohol-slowed brain tried to think of a response. “…She shoulda known better.”

I couldn’t even speak. I knew my father was capable of some saying some pretty idiotic things, but this – this took the cake.

“Oh, so it’s her fault?” I asked, becoming angrier by the second. “It’s her fault you were passed out drunk? Yeah, you know what? Silly her for being hungry and thinking her father would feed her. How dare she!”

“You better shut your mouth, boy”, he ordered.

But now it was my turn to rage. “You know what the sad part is?” I asked. “I stick up for you – all the time. ‘That’s right Gracie - daddy’s not passed out, he’s just sleeping. That’s right Gracie - daddy’s not hung-over, he’s just sick. Daddy’s not angry. Daddy loves you. Really he does.’ Only you don’t give a fuck about any of us, do you?”

My father said nothing and stared straight into my eyes. I asked again, “DO YOU?”

Still, he didn’t answer. And that was all the confirmation I needed. By this point, I had grown so disgusted with him that I lashed out with the only weapon I had – the truth. “Maybe you’d be happier if we all ended up like Adam!”

I knew I shouldn’t have said it. “Adam” was the only four letter word forbidden in our house. You could say anything; utter any expletive or any combination thereof, but never that word. Never that name.

I saw a flash of sadness in my father’s eyes, but before I could take back my words, his curled fist collided with my jaw and I hit the floor with a giant thud.

He stood hovering over me, hyperventilating as he shook the tension from his fist. I looked up at him, my vision blurred and my head spinning. His face was red and his eyes were glassy and full of rage. He looked like a wild animal. At that moment, I thought he might actually kill me – kick me, choke me, grab a knife from the kitchen and stab me. Whatever it took. So I covered my head with my hands, scrunched my eyes closed, and braced for impact, but he punched the door instead - my sister’s door - stumbled backwards and ran from the house.

After what felt like an eternity, I felt my senses begin to return – the familiar metallic taste of blood in my mouth, the hard wooden floor beneath my body, and my sister’s screaming filling my ears with a piercing, terror-filled sound.

Dazed and dizzy, I struggled to pull myself to my feet. My legs wobbled beneath me, as if my father’s fist had somehow passed his drunkenness on to me. I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and a smear of bright red blood coated the grey fabric. But I didn’t care that I was bleeding. I never cared anymore.

I opened Gracie’s bedroom door and shut it behind me quietly. I couldn’t see her, but her cries were deafening now. They filled the room with such force that it was nearly impossible to tell where exactly they were coming from. I checked under the bed - my favourite hiding spot when I was her age, but she wasn’t there. “Gracie” I whispered.

As I neared her closet - the only other discernible hiding spot in her minuscule bedroom, her cries stopped. “Gracie, it’s me” I told her.

I slowly opened the closet door, doing my best not to frighten her, and was greeted with what was, and what remains, the single most heartbreaking sight I have ever seen. She stood there looking up at me with her mouth agape in a silent scream. She had screamed so loud and for so long that her tiny lungs had emptied, but she just carried on screaming. Her skin had reddened from the lack of oxygen in her body, her cheeks were coated with tears, and her light blue eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She had her arms outstretched in front of her, her little hands grasping at the air, desperate for something or someone to cling to. So I lifted her into my arms and immediately felt her chest contract against mine as she gulped in a large breath of air. Her voice returned and her cries rattled my left eardrum. “Shh, I got you. I got you” I said as I rubbed her back, feeling the dampness of sweat that had soaked through her pyjamas.

I wasn’t sure how long my wobbling legs would hold us, so I sat on the edge of the bed and rocked her. But it didn’t seem to help. She grabbed a tuft of my sweatshirt and clung to it with all her might, her mouth and teeth resting on my shoulder as she screamed into it.

At that moment, I wanted to kill him. I kept thinking about how I would have, if he were still in the house. And it terrified me. It terrified me because I knew he would be back. And I would be here too. And this would happen again. And maybe I would lose it completely. Maybe I would become him. And I couldn’t let that happen. So I left.

I waited for Gracie to stop crying and tucked her into bed, but she wouldn’t even let me leave her room, let alone the house. Each time I tried to move toward the door, she started crying again, reaching out and grabbing my clothes and my limbs to make me stay. I convinced her to let me leave only temporarily, so that I could fetch an old teddy bear I kept stowed away under my bed. I had taken it with me everywhere as a kid. It was tattered, covered in stains, and missing an eyeball, but it would have to do.

I brought it to her and kneeled beside her bed, freeing the blond strands of hair that had dried and stuck to her tear-stained cheeks. “This is Mr. Teddy”, I told her. “I have to go now, okay? But if you ever feel scared, you just tell Mr. Teddy and you hold onto him and he’ll make you feel better. I promise, okay?” I said, trying to make us both believe it. She took the stuffed bear from my hands and I touched my pointer finger to the tip of her nose. It always made her smile. And she did.

Then she reached out and touched my bottom lip. “You’re hurted” she said. I had already forgotten I was bleeding. Without hesitating for even a moment, she passed the bear back to me. “If you scared, you can tell Mr. Teddy” she said, with the sort of complete and utter innocence that could only ever come from a child. Of course, I couldn’t tell that her or that stuffed bear that I was frightened of my father, and frightened of becoming him, and frightened about what would happen when I left. So I told her that Mr. Teddy could read thoughts too, and I took the bear in my hands, closed my eyes, and pretended to transfer my brainwaves to that stuffed, inanimate object.

“See? I feel better already” I told her, wearing my best wide-eyed, cheery expression. However phoney it was, she seemed contented and I gave Mr. Teddy back to her. I stayed with her a while longer, holding her hand while she clutched that stupid bear to her chest. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. All that screaming had exhausted her tiny body.

Once I was sure she was sleeping, I took her hand out of mine as delicately as I could and placed it amongst the brown, tattered fur covering that bear. My legs still wobbled as I got up from knees and made my way to her door. I paused and said goodnight to her like I promised I would, though I’m sure she never heard it. I took a moment to capture that image of her in my mind – peaceful, sleeping, as if nothing had ever happened, completely unaware that I was about to vanish from her life. Then I shut her bedroom door, took a deep breath and proceeded to stuff everything I had into an old backpack. It wasn’t much - some clothes, a toothbrush, and a few dollars I had managed to scrounge together from my part-time job. Then I waited for my sister Jenny to come back from her tutoring session, because as much as I wanted to run, I wasn’t about to leave Gracie alone in that house.

Luckily, she arrived home a few minutes later. She must have seen the hole in Gracie’s door because she started calling my name almost immediately. She found me sitting in our bedroom on the edge of my bed, with my backpack in my lap and a bloodied mouth. Another pathetic sight, I’m sure.

“What happened? What’s going on?” she asked me in a panic, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. But deep down, she knew. She started to ask what I was doing, but then she saw the backpack and the look in my eyes, and she froze.

I got up and moved toward the door but she grabbed my shoulders and just started saying “no” over and over again. Before I could even speak, she was crying. I never wanted to hurt her. Or leave her. But it didn’t change the fact that I was going to.

I pushed passed her and managed to make it all the way to the front door before she stopped me again. “Whatever it is, he’ll get over it!” she shouted, attributing both my fleeing and the fist-sized hole she had seen to my father without even needing to ask. But that wasn’t the point. My mind was made up.

I told her that Gracie was sleeping in her room and I told her about that teddy bear too. “Make sure it doesn’t get lost” I said, even though I’m pretty positive she had no idea what I was talking about, or why I suddenly cared so much about some stupid stuffed animal.

When I opened the front door to leave, she grabbed onto my arm, and dug her nails in. “You can’t leave me here!” she pleaded, still weeping as she held on tight. “I can’t do this on my own!” The words sounded so desperate and pained as they left her mouth that I almost stayed, just to spare her the agony.

But I knew I couldn’t, so I took her face in my hands and kissed her forehead. Then I realized I was crying too. I said I was sorry, even though I knew it didn’t make any difference. If I had known it would be so long before I would get to see her again, I would have thought of something better to say. Something like: You’re strong enough. Because she was. Something like: I love you. Because I did.

But I just disappeared.


	9. A Lesson Learned

Blake’s POV:

I could feel my left eye throbbing as I stepped off the elevator and began the long walk to the apartment at the end of the hall. When I opened the front door, I found Ted sitting at the kitchen table with his back to me. I waited for him to turn around, to say something, but he stayed silent and I could feel the pit in my stomach growing larger by the second. I wondered whether this was the final straw. After all, how many times can someone disappear until they until they simply aren’t missed?

I inched my way over to the table until I was a foot or so behind him. I swallowed hard and forced a sound from my mouth. “Hey” I whispered, nearly wincing as I anticipated what his reaction might be.

He jumped at the sound of my voice and his shoulders tensed. At first I thought he was angry, but when he did turn around, the anger I had expected to be there wasn’t. Instead there were tears. He got up from his chair without saying a word and threw his arms around me like I was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.

In that moment I was relieved, not because he was crying, but because now it was about him, not me. Now I could be the strong one. I didn’t have to be weak. “It’s okay. I’m okay” I told him. I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter now.

I remember thinking about how he had never hugged me like this before. It was like he was trying to force my broken pieces back together. When he finally did let go, he ran his thumb light as a feather over my left eyebrow. “Let me get you something for that”, he said.

I outstretched my hand to stop him, but he was already on his way to the freezer. “It’s okay, really” I said, baffled at how he always put me first, even as he wiped tears from his eyes. Soon, he returned to me with a few ice cubes he had wrapped in a red tea towel. 

I smiled softly. “Thanks” I said, as I pressed the bundle of ice to my eye, flinching slightly at the sting of the cold.

He took my free hand and led me to over to the sofa. When we sat down, he fixed his eyes on me, horrified, like he was watching a car wreck in slow motion. It was that look. That look that could invade me with exacting precision. 

I turned my head away, but the only thing in my line of sight was the dining table. I thought about the dinner. I thought about my father. I thought about Ted. Mostly Ted, and about how guilty I felt for ruining this evening, and for ruining so much more. “I’m sorry”, I began to say, even though the words were far too small convey the enormity of what I was feeling. 

But before the words had a chance to leave my mouth, Ted said them aloud. “I’m sorry”. 

He apologized. He apologized to me. I was so baffled that I couldn’t even tell him he had nothing to apologize for. I just sat there with my mouth opened as he continued. “I shouldn’t have opened the door. I shouldn’t have let him in.”

But I could picture the moment in my mind: my father on one side of the door, Ted on the other. Ted, unsure at first, but then seeing the state of my father’s hand, and reacting in the only way he could, in the only way he ever did – with kindness.

“You were just trying to do the right thing” I told him, finally allowing myself to look at his face.

“And I failed miserably, as usual” he uttered in his usual self-effacing tone, hanging his head, while I shook mine in disagreement.

“You didn’t fail, okay?” I insisted, dropping the bundle of ice from my face and into my lap.

Then he looked back up at me and his gaze grew even sadder. “I did” he said, reaching over and brushing his thumb under my eye. He looked frightened as he did it. I knew he wasn’t accustomed to violence like I was. What seemed normal to me was unthinkable to him, and that was why I loved him.

“It’ll heal” I told him, trying to appear as nonchalant and unfazed as possible. “Will you?” I asked, staring at the shimmering dampness on his cheeks.

“Oh, don’t worry about me” he said with a laugh as he used his palms to wipe his face clean. “You know I cry over everything - weddings, funerals, movies, the opera. Yesterday I cried watching a credit card commercial. My inner accountant was weeping at the thought of all that overspending.”

There it was - that sense of humour that could find its way to the surface, even, and perhaps especially when he was hurting. But I knew I was the cause of that hurt. Me. So I couldn’t laugh, even though I knew he wanted me to. I just sat there, looking forlorn as I did. A car wreck personified. 

I could only think of one thing to say. “Listen, I want you to ask me something” I told him. “Anything. Just ask.” In truth, I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t want to answer any questions. All I really wanted was for him to be angry. Disgusted even, at the person I was, at the person my father revealed me to be.

He starred at me for a moment, with that look in his eyes again, reading me like I was his favourite novel. Then he got up and walked toward the CD player sitting on a shelf above the television. He pressed play and when he did, an aria from La Traviata poured softly from the speakers. He walked back over to me with his hand outstretched and his fingers wiggling. “Care to dance?” he said with a gentle smile.

And I got what I asked for - a question. But his sweetness in that moment hit me with another wave of guilt, and once again, I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t dance. I just sat there with my eyes fixed to the floor. 

Almost immediately, he crouched down in front of me and tried to meet my gaze. He took the bundle of ice from my lap and placed it on the floor beside him. “We still have to celebrate” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice and the bit of light-heartedness he had forced to the surface. 

Then I realized I had forgotten all about the program and about my promotion. I had even forgotten I was a counsellor. My father had successfully reduced me to my rawest, ugliest components. And once again, I was just a boy. A screwed up boy. A boy who hurt people.

I decided then that I had to give him the opportunity to escape - the same opportunity I had seized so many times before. He must have sensed what was coming though, because as I opened my mouth to speak, he leaned forward and kissed my eyelids with the sort of tenderness I had only ever known from him. 

And just like that, I couldn’t say what I was going to. I couldn’t say that if he wanted me to leave, I would. I couldn’t say that I would disappear, for good this time. I couldn’t say that he deserved better, even though he did. I couldn’t say it because he loved me. Still. He loved me.

My chin was quivering with emotion now and I gnawed desperately on my bottom lip, willing it to stop. But before I could regain my composure, he saw it. That stupid quiver. I heard him sigh and felt him grab hold of my hand. “Sweetheart.” That was all he said. Sweetheart. And he said it like his own heart was breaking. 

Only he had it all wrong. I wasn’t a sweetheart. And he had to see that. I had to make him see that. 

 

Ted’s POV:

I held his hand and squeezed it tightly in my own, desperately hoping it would stop him from breaking completely, but as I knelt there in front of him, his face began to crumble. He curled back into the sofa and pulled his hand away from mine, but I didn’t let go. “I’m a horrible person”. That’s what he said. “I’m a horrible person”.

It took every ounce of strength in my body not to crumble along with him. “You’re not a horrible person” I told him, squeezing his hand even tighter. 

I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how someone so beautiful and so brave and so sweet could think that about themselves. I pulled his body close to mine and hugged him. He didn’t hug me back though. He stayed curled in that little ball with his arms tucked in close to his chest. Still, I thought maybe if I held him long enough, I could force all his broken pieces back together.

“You’re not a horrible person.” I said it again. I felt like I should say it a hundred times, a thousand even, as many times as it took for him to believe it. 

The truth was I knew what it was like to feel that way and I didn’t want that for him. For anyone, but especially him. “I am so proud of you”, I told him. It was something I had said many times before, although I’m not sure he ever heard me. Really heard me.

Suddenly I could feel every muscle in his body tense. His chest stopped contracting against mine and the room fell completely silent. I pulled him in even closer, waited, and hoped he would breathe. I’ll never forget the sound that came out of his mouth when he finally did take in that breath. I had heard him cry before, but this was something different. It was as if every ounce of pain within him had finally escaped. 

Very quickly though, the sound became muffled and I knew he was trying desperately to hold everything in. I realized that hugging him didn’t seem to help, so I pulled back to look at him, but he turned his face away from mine. He had his hand clenched so tightly over his mouth that I thought he might actually hurt himself. 

The longer I looked at him, the more I panicked. I pulled on his forearm, gently at first, then with more force. I kept the pressure there until his hand fell away from his lips and crashed down to his thigh. As soon as it did, he tried to get up from the sofa, but I grabbed hold of his hips and held him in place.

He managed one word between his sobs - “please”, chocked out with a mixture of anger, desperation, and exhaustion that made my knees want to buckle. 

For as long as I’d known him, there had been this haunted quality to his eyes. Not sadness exactly, or fear, just this haunted stare that I never quite understood. And this was it. This was everything that haunted stare contained, erupting to the surface. 

I took his face in my hands and pulled it gently towards mine. When I did, he grabbed on to my forearms and tried to resist, but I pleaded, “Look at me, look at me, look at me.” I held his face steady in front of mine. “You’re not a horrible person. You’re a good person. And I am so proud of you.”

 

Blake’s POV

I realized then, with his hands on my face and his words ringing in my ears, that this was what love was. It wasn’t about long walks on the beach, or picnics, or sunsets. It didn’t disappear, like I always did, when things got ugly and raw and dirty. It didn’t come with a lifetime of bruises and black eyes, or with the condition of perfection. It was constant and free of judgement, and yes sometimes it was hard and downright terrifying, but it made life worth living, even in those moments when it seemed so much easier to give up.


	10. A House is Not a Home

Blake’s POV

 

I got the call that morning - Jenny on the other end of the line - her voice breaking as she told me the news. 

 

“Dad’s dead.”

 

I had been expecting to hear those words one day. Sooner rather than later. Still, I could feel the blood drain from my face as she told me what had happened. That night, after leaving our apartment, he had gone to some cheap motel and drowned his sorrows. He drank and drank and drank until his body simply quit. He passed out, choked on his own vomit, and died.

 

 

Ted’s POV

 

Blake came into the bedroom around 6:30am, all colour drained from his face. “My dad’s...My dad died.” I was in shock, but the emotion he displayed from the previous night seemed to have disappeared and now there was just nothing. He told me the news like he was telling me about the weather, or his trip to the grocery store.

 

“What?” I said, springing from the bed and putting my arms around him while he stood there like a pillar in the middle of the ocean with his arms at his sides. 

 

He didn’t tell me any details, but for the fact that he needed to go to his “house” – not to his “home”, but his “house”. I convinced him to let me drive him there. He resisted at first, telling me that it was “okay”, that he was “fine”, and that he would get there on his own. He said he didn’t want to “drag me” into everything. After a few minutes though, I got up my gumption and told him: “I’ll drop you off and pick you up when you’re ready, if that’s what you want, but I’m driving.”

 

 

Blake’s POV:

 

I sat in the passenger seat trying to think of something, anything to say. The only sentences I did manage to mumble were brief directions and a request to turn on the radio. Anything to drown out my thoughts. I even resorted to tactile forms of diversion. Throughout the journey, I pressed the tips of my fingers against the window, waited until the blood drained from them, and watched as they turned white. For whatever reason, it helped. 

 

I hadn’t forgotten about the man seated to my left, of course. I could feel his eyes on me even as I stared out the window. About midway through the ride, he reached over and put his right hand on top of my left. I was grateful for his touch, even though I’m sure I didn’t show it.

 

I saw the house come up on our right after about an hour on the road. It looked just as I remembered it, which wasn’t a good thing. The sight of it alone made me uneasy. I hadn’t set eyes on the place since I fled from it ten years ago. Any subsequent family gatherings were held at restaurants or in the homes of other relatives. Never in this place.

 

 

Ted’s POV

 

After about an hour, we pulled up to his “house”. From the outside, it didn’t look too bad. A little rundown, sure, but still standing. I did wonder though, how in the world nine people ever fit under its roof. Not only was it small, it was a bungalow, contained entirely on one level. As I examined its exterior - the bright red door, the unkempt garden, the tiny, one gar garage with chipped brown paint – I saw a young woman in a blue t-shirt exit out the front door. I knew it had to be Jenny. She was petite, blonde, and looked to be about the right age. I heard Blake take in a deep breath before he got out the car and walked towards her.

 

I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. He hadn’t given me any official instructions. Was I to hide from view, stay, leave? I wasn’t sure. So I watched them for a moment. They hugged without even stopping to say hello. Blake’s back was to me, but I could clearly see that she was emotional, and understandably so. When they parted, she looked up at him carefully, as if to examine his every feature. I knew the exact moment she spotted his bruised eye. Her face turned sad, but there wasn’t a hint of shock in her expression. She just sighed deeply, her shoulders rose and fell, and she hugged him again.

 

When they parted for a second time, I saw Blake’s hand drift up to her face. I smiled as I watched him wipe away a tear from her cheek. 

 

I decided then that I had better at least get out of the car, no matter how nervous I was. It seemed rude not to, and Blake had left his cell phone sitting on the passenger seat. I walked around to the lawn to escape any oncoming cars and that’s when she spotted me.

 

She walked briskly toward me. “You must be Ted” she said, wiping another tear from her cheek. I noticed her smile right away. She and Blake looked similar, but when they smiled, they may as well have been twins. Truthfully, I couldn’t even believe she was capable of that sort of smile on a day like this, but there she was, grinning up at me as her eyes shimmered with tears.

 

“That’s me” I said awkwardly, trying to find some appropriate balance between sympathy and positivity. “You must be Jenny.”

 

“That’s right” she said, smiling even wider. 

 

Then she asked to hug me. She said, “I’m sorry. Can I hug you? I’m a hugger.”

 

I smiled and stammered awkwardly, not at all expecting the question. By the time I said “sure”, her arms were already around me. I had no idea why she wanted to hug me, but I was more than happy to return the gesture.

 

When she let go, she took my right hand between both of hers. “It’s amazing to finally meet you”, she said with this genuine sort of brightness that once again reminded me of her brother. 

 

“It’s amazing to meet you too” I said, echoing her words mainly because I was too overwhelmed and nervous to think of my own. “I...I...I’m just sorry it had to happen under these circumstances. I’m so sorry about your fa-”. Before I could finish stuttering out my condolences, she patted the top of my hand, which still sat sandwiched in her grasp. “It’s okay. I’m happy to meet you no matter the circumstances.” 

 

I smiled back at her and then I remembered my deal with Blake. “Um, I was just going to drop Blake off” I admitted, feeling cowardly for running off so quickly. I wasn’t sure whether Blake had changed his mind about wanting me there, let alone in his house. “I don’t want to intrude or anything. I’m sure you’d like to be together as a family.”

 

“You wouldn’t be intruding at all”, she assured me with smile. “Actually, we could really use your help. It’s just going to be Blake and I - for a while at least. Our mom’s out picking up Gracie. I hate to put you to work but...”

 

“Oh, sure. If you need me, I’m here” I said, smiling more than I should have, while glancing nervously between her and Blake.

 

Then she gazed up at me for a moment before turning to her brother. “You were right about his eyes” she said, returning her gaze to me.

 

I looked over at Blake, confused. Were my eyes red? Bulgy? Funny looking?

 

“He always says you have the most incredible eyes”, she told me. “He was right. Those are some world record lashes”.

 

I lowered my head almost instantly. Compliments from anyone other than Blake were rare, although I guess, in a way, this one had come from him too. “Oh...I...I don’t know about that, but thank you”, I said. “Both of you”. 

 

 

Blake’s POV

 

I didn’t want him there. Dragged into all my problems. Again. But now I didn’t have a choice, because for a moment, they were both happy and I couldn’t ruin that, no matter how much I wanted to tell him to escape while he still could. Watching them smile, I almost forgot why I was there. Then Jenny suggested we head into the house. 

 

Ted let me walk ahead of him. I felt his hand on my back and was grateful, once again, for his touch. It feels stupid to say that my heart was pounding, but it was. I had avoided this place for over a decade, determined never to set foot within its walls again, but there I was, heading straight for the front door. 

 

We made it to the porch when my sister turned around to face me. “Listen, don’t freak out, but he made a bit of a mess last night. I’ve been tidying up for a while, but it’s still a bit of disaster.”

 

A bit of a mess. A bit of a disaster. I knew better. “Gracie wasn’t here was she? Last night?” That’s all I wanted to know.

 

She shook her head. “She was at a friend’s for the night.”

 

Relieved, I followed behind her as she opened the door. 

 

As soon as the smell from inside hit my nostrils, I felt queasy. I paused in the doorframe, so briefly that was sure it was undetectable, but then I felt Ted’s hand on my back again. 

 

It was that smell – a mixture of booze, cigarettes, and this horrible cologne my father wore. Even in his absence, the place still smelled like him. It must have seeped its way into the walls or something. 

 

I almost laughed when Ted went to take off his shoes. 

 

“Oh, you can leave those on” my sister told him. “Actually, it’s probably better if you do. There’s a bit of –“

 

She waved her hand toward the living room and that’s when I saw a pile of broken glass sitting on the carpet. I wasn’t sure where it had come from, but then my eyes fixed on what looked like the bottom half of a scotch glass. In his drunken state, he must have shattered every one he owned, and left the shards in a pile on the middle of the living room floor.

 

“Sorry about that” I heard my sister say to Ted. “I was just about to clean it up when I heard your car out front.”

 

When I finally looked up from the floor, she had a broom in her hand – yellow handle with brown bristles – the same one I had used when I called this place home. Suddenly, he was screaming at me again. Not until you clean that shit up off the floor!

 

“I’ll do it” I said, half answering the voice in my head.

 

“It’s okay. You just got here.” My sister was quick to object, but I was quicker.

 

“Seriously, I got it” I told her, taking the broom from her hand. 

 

 

Ted’s POV:

 

We had only just stepped inside and already he had a broom in his hand, visibly intent on cleaning up his father’s mess. 

 

“I’ll get you the dust pan then” his sister said, disappearing into the kitchen. As soon as she returned and handed it to him, he went to work.

 

We both stood there and watched him for a minute, as a strange tension enveloped the room.

 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Jenny asked, clearly doing her best to lighten the atmosphere.

 

“Oh no, that’s alright” I answered, smiling though my eyes were half fixed on Blake.

 

“I think I’ll start some coffee, just in case.” She disappeared into the kitchen again. She seemed to know how and when to give him space. I, on the other hand, didn’t.

 

As soon as she left the room, I crouched down beside him and reached for the dust pan. “Here...let me help you with that”, I said. But he held the dustpan firmly in place and said, “I’m fine” in this stern, almost robotic voice. There it was again – that word – “fine”. I should have backed off right then, but I just hovered there. “Seriously, Ted! I’ve got it, okay?” he barked out.

 

Within moments I heard his sister return from the kitchen. She must have heard the tone in his voice. “You sure you don’t want some coffee?” she asked, no doubt trying to pull me away before I pushed him any further.

 

“Actually, I will have some, thanks” I said, standing up and taking her queue.

 

 

Blake’s POV 

 

I know how to sweep a floor. You don’t need to supervise me, I wanted to say. Like I was seventeen again, and he was watching me, with that smirk of superiority plastered on his face.

 

When I heard Ted go into the kitchen with Jenny, I could finally breathe again. Just as soon as I exhaled, I closed my eyes and cursed at myself. Why did I have to snap at him? All I could do now was finish cleaning the floor as a feeling of regret filled my gut. 

 

I joined them in the kitchen when I was done. 

 

“Hey. Do you want some?” my sister asked, putting her coffee mug in the sink. But they had already finished drinking, and I didn’t feel like standing around talking. “What else can I do?” I asked, wanting more than anything to be kept me busy.

 

“Well,” she said, “You could clean out dad’s things from the bedroom. Mom’s orders. She wants his clothes to go to Goodwill. Or you could help me move some stuff in the basement.”

 

I answered instantly. “I’ll take the bedroom.” There was no way I was going in that basement. 

 

“Okay” my sister said, turning to Ted. “Would you mind giving me a hand in the basement, Ted?”

 

He said “sure”, like I knew he would. He looked hesitant to leave my side though, so I mustered the most reassuring smile I could and then headed down the hallway.

 

That’s when I saw it. A gaping hole in the wall just outside my old bedroom.

 

“Is this new?” I called out to my sister, hoping she would say no.

 

She turned the corner down the hallway and all she did was nod as her eyes filled with sadness.

 

Suddenly, everything started to make sense - my father’s hand, the dried blood on his knuckles. This was how he’d done it. This. Not some accident at work. It seemed so obvious now. The minute the hole he made years ago gets fixed, he decides to make a new one.

 

 

Ted’s POV

 

I followed Jenny and turned the corner. That’s when a wave of guilt came over me. How could I have been so unbelievably gullible? This was how Walt had hurt his hand. I had shown him sympathy, when all he had really done was put his fist through some drywall.

 

I watched as Blake rested his forehead against the wall and sighed. “I’ll fix this before I go”, he said, determined once again to clean up the mess his father left behind. My heart broke for him.

 

“We’re out of plaster”, Jenny told him.

 

“Well, I’ll go get some” he insisted, nearly rushing out the front door before she stopped him.

 

“No, no. Stay, okay?” she said, grabbing on to his forearm. “We’ll worry about it later. Besides, it’s not like he can make another one.” She smiled when she said it, but her eyes filled with tears.

 

It wasn’t until Blake came over and hugged her that I felt I really was intruding, despite what she had assured me. This was his family. His blood. Not mine. And I knew there was so much in that hug I couldn’t possibly ever understand.

 

Soon, she and I were in the basement. All there was down there was an old television set, a dusty lamp, and a recliner with a small table to one side.

 

We busied ourselves moving some boxes out of a storage closet. I knew I should have made an effort to talk with her, but I had no idea what to say to someone on the day their father died. She seemed content with the silence though, much to my relief. 

 

In fact, relief was what seemed to fill the whole house. There was sadness of course, but also this air of relief, almost as if a cloud had been lifted from above. There was no sense of shock either. It was like both she and Blake had been expecting this day to come for their entire lives.

 

In the quietness between Jenny and I, I couldn’t help but think of Blake. I imagined what must be going through his head, and what expression must be etched on his face as he cleared out his father’s clothing from the bedroom. Every time Jenny looked away, I craned my neck to the side and peered up the stairs, hoping I might see him there.

 

I jumped when, out of nowhere, she spoke. “He’ll be fine”, she said with a soft smile. “He always is.”

 

She must have spotted me staring. “Sorry” I said, filling with embarrassment.

 

“Don’t apologize”, she told me. “It’s nice. You really care about him”.

 

She was right, I thought, as I smiled like a nervous fool. I thought this would be the extent of our conversation, but she put down the box she was holding and came over to me.

 

“Listen...”, she said. “I just want to thank you for everything you did for him. He was really...lost...for a... really long time.” It took her a few seconds to choose the word: “lost”. I couldn’t help but think about how accurately it described the boy I had met on Liberty Avenue six years earlier. “Lost” - drifting along, with no real sense of place, or permanence, or security. It was like he was floating, living day to day, with no real expectation that he would see tomorrow.

 

“We were never there for him like we should’ve been”, she said. “I don’t know... I don’t know what would’ve happened to him if it wasn’t for you caring about him the way you did – the way you do.” I listened, speechless as her eyes filled with emotion again. There was an earnest quality to her voice as she spoke, like she really wanted me to hear her. It was the same tone Blake had when he first thanked me for “being so nice” all those years ago. She had the same look of conviction in her eyes as he did too. 

 

“I just wish there was some way we could repay you”, she told me. “Not that we have much money, but if there’s anything you ever need...”

 

Oh. No, no”, I said, stopping her before she could go on. “Trust me. Blake’s given me just as much – more - than I ever gave him. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t think I’d be standing here right now.”

 

She smiled lightly and nodded. “It’s just, you know...he always got the worst of it from dad. And I know that’s why he left. This is the first time he’s been back in this house since then.”

 

I didn’t even want to imagine what “the worst of it” was, or just how bad it had to be for him to decide to disappear from his family. “When did he leave?” I asked cautiously.

 

“August 14th 1998.” I shuttered when she told me the exact date, not only because she remembered it after all this time, but because I realised that today was nearly nine years to the day that he first left home.

 

“August is never really a happy time in this place” she told me with a smile, as she lifted another box out of the closet.

 

 

Blake’s POV:

 

I was sitting in my parents’ bedroom with a bag of his clothes in my right hand. I still couldn’t believe I was here. In this house. In this room. Touching his clothes. Everything smelled like him, not just the clothes - the walls, the sheets, the carpet, the air. Everything. It didn’t even feel like he was gone, and I didn’t know whether that made me happy or sad.

 

Suddenly my shoulders tensed as I heard the front door slam shut. It was them. My mother and the young girl to whom I owed the entire world – Gracie.


	11. A Little Bit of Grace

Blake’s POV:

I exited my parents’ bedroom just in time to hear another door slam. Gracie must have run to her room because my mother was standing at the other end of the hall, alone, staring at me. 

 

By the time I made it over to her, Jenny and Ted were upstairs, no doubt wondering who or what had caused all the racket. Jenny was quick to hug our mother and take a large duffel bag from her right hand.

 

I hugged my mother too and watched silently as Jenny introduced her to Ted. Throughout the introduction, her expression remained blank, as it had been for years. She said a quick hello and lit a cigarette before disappearing into her bedroom. I would have followed her, but my attention was focused solely on the youngest, and likely most distraught person in the house. 

 

“Where’s Gracie?” Jenny asked me.

 

I pointed to her room and Jenny wasted no time in knocking on her door, at which point Gracie shouted at her to “Go away!”

 

It’s silly, but it felt amazing to hear her voice, even if she sounded furious.

 

“Why don’t you give it a go?” Jenny said, putting her hand on my shoulder before she followed our mother to her bedroom. I glanced back at her nervously, took a deep breath, knocked, and waited. 

 

“I said GO AWAY!” Gracie shouted again.

 

“Gracie, it’s me” I said, hoping she might recognize my voice.

 

I felt like I was slowly reliving my past. The last time I had uttered those words, I was standing right here, trying my best to console a then three year old Gracie through this same door.

 

 

Ted’s POV:

 

I watched and waited at that bedroom door, standing a few feet behind Blake. Soon, it creaked open and I saw her - this young girl, barely a teenager, with blonde hair just past her shoulders. It was parted right down the middle. She had on glasses with thick black rims, and a grey sweatshirt that looked to be at least a few sizes too big. 

 

I marvelled at the way she stared up at him with glassy, tear-filled eyes, mesmerized, like she couldn’t quite believe who she was seeing.

 

After a few brief seconds of staring, her composure faded and her face flooded with emotion. She turned away as soon as it breached the surface, but she never closed the door behind her. She never shut Blake out.

 

 

Blake's POV:

 

I couldn’t just walk away, so I entered her room through the open door and closed it quietly behind me. My heart was racing again. She had her back to me and I had no idea what to say or do for that matter. 

 

After a few seconds of silence, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “What’re you doing here?”

 

It was a more than fair question, but I clueless about how to answer it. “Jenny called me and...well...I...” I couldn’t stop tripping over my words. Why was I there? 

 

“I wanted to make sure you were alright”, I said. It was the most honest answer I could think of.

 

I watched as her head dropped and her shoulders slumped. She turned around to face me, a stern, steely expression on her face. “Do I look alright?” she asked bitterly. 

 

I was fixated on her puffy, bloodshot eyes. “No.” I said, as my shoulders slumped too. “No, you don’t.”

 

Her face softened the longer she looked at me. She must have been staring at my eye. When she finally did look away, she made her way over to her bed and sat on its edge.

 

Then she said it: “I think you should go.” There was something about the tone in her voice that broke me. She didn’t yell or hiss it or bark it like an order. It was more of this tired, hopeless, deflated request.

 

“What?”I asked, swallowing hard to retain my composure.

 

“That’s what you’re gonna to do, isn’t it?” she asked. “Leave? Just like you did before. “

 

I swallowed again. “No, Gracie...I...”

 

“Yes you will. You’ll walk out of this house and I’ll be stuck here in this room while mom walks around like a zombie. You and Jenny are gonna go on with your happy lives, and I’ll just be here. Forever.”

 

I went over to the bed and crouched down in front of her. Before I knew it, the words were pouring from my mouth without even having to think. “Hey. Listen to me. I’m not going to leave you, alright. I don’t blame you if hate me. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for the rest of your life for leaving the way I did.”

 

“Do you know that I spent years asking about you?” she said, though it was less of a question and more of declaration. “I’d ask where you went. I’d ask why you left. Only no one ever told me. So I thought maybe it was my fault. I’d sit in here at night and I’d think, maybe if I hadn’t spilled those stupid Cheerios, you’d still be here.”

 

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had naively and secretly hoped that she had no memory of that night. That her memories had somehow been magically replaced with happy, joyful thoughts – the sort of things that should fill a young girl’s mind. But it was becoming clear that she remembered everything, even those little O’s crashing to the floor.

 

“I didn’t leave because of some spilled cereal, okay?” I told her. “And I definitely didn’t leave because of you.” She rolled her eyes and looked away, but I continued. “Listen to me. I was messed up for a really long time. I’ve been a horrible big brother to you and there’s no excuse. None. But I care about you. I do. I always thought about you. Always. And I’m not going to leave you. Not this time. I won’t forget about you. I never did.”

 

She was still looking away, so I reached up and brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “You’re my girl”, I told her.

 

I could sense her veneer of toughness and anger begin to break, and soon the hurt and sadness underneath was revealed. “I miss you” she said, her voice cracking and her face crumbling into tears. 

 

As happy as I was to hear those three little words, my heart broke for her. I sighed and pulled her into a hug, but as soon as I wrapped my arms around her, she recoiled and whispered something before turning her face away from mine.

 

“What is it?” I asked.

 

“It’s nothing” she told me, launching off the bed and to her feet. “Just go, okay? Seriously. Go.”

 

I could hear the agitation and the tremble in her voice. “What’s the matter?” I asked, watching intently as she pulled at her shirt, like she was trying to make sure every inch of her skin was covered. “Let me see” I pleaded. 

 

“I’m fine” she said, this time trying to force a smile, but I knew what “fine” meant in our family. 

 

I took her hand in mine and said it again, as softly as I could. “Let me see.”

 

She looked at me for a moment then sighed and turned so her back was to me. When she started to lift up her shirt, my heart sank to the soles of my feet. It looked as if all the skin on her back had been ripped off. Her shirt was literally sticking to her back as she pulled it up. I felt like I was watching a horror film. I told myself this couldn’t be real. 

 

“How did this happen?” I dreaded her answer, but needed to hear it. 

 

She turned to face me again. “Last night I...”

 

“Wait.” I stopped her. “You were here? I thought you went to a friend’s last night.”

 

“I did. After.”

 

“After what?” I asked, my own voice starting to tremble. I prayed she was going to tell me that she had fallen in gym class, or developed an allergic reaction. She didn’t. 

 

“After he did this.”

 

I knew exactly who he was, but still, I asked. “Dad did this?” 

 

She nodded. “He caught me going into the cupboard above the stove. I was trying to empty out some of his booze before he got home. You know, so he wouldn’t drink so much. He always goes crazy this time of year. But he caught me and dragged me across the carpet and put me in here.”

 

As she told me the story, it began to play out in my mind. I tried to stop it, but I could see and sense every detail – her fear and desperation as she poured out the liquor, the rage in his voice when he found her, the strength in his grip as he dragged her, and the way the friction between the carpet and her back had seared her skin. For a moment, I felt like I wanted to kill him, the same way I felt when I held her in my arms all those years ago, her tiny hands gripping at the fabric of my shirt, and her cries ringing in my ears. Then I realised he was already dead. 

 

“Has Jenny seen this?” I asked, hoping she had, but knowing that she probably hadn’t. The wound looked uncared for, like it hadn’t even been cleaned.

 

Gracie shook her head, confirming my suspicions.

 

“Has anyone seen it?” I asked.

 

“No. I just went to my friend’s house and slept on the sofa...on my stomach” she added, almost laughing.

 

“You need to show Jenny, okay?” I insisted. Jenny was always better with the physical ailments than I was. She was a nurse from the get go. I could deal with tears and thoughts and hearts and minds, but the black and blue always terrified me. I’m not sure why.

 

“She’d just freak out and then want to take pictures to show her class or something” Gracie retorted, smiling slightly for the first time since I’d entered the room.

 

“See? You’d be doing her a favour” I said cheerfully, trying to make her smile even more. She did.

 

“I’ll go get her so she can take a look, okay?” I said, smiling back at her.

 

Before I even turned toward the door, she grabbed on to my forearm. “Then what?”, she asked.

 

For a second, I was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

 

“Jenny looks at my back, then what? You leave and I’m stuck in this room, just like I said before.”

 

My heart plummeted again and I tried to reassure her. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” 

 

“You don’t understand” she said, looking me square in the eyes. “You can’t leave. I can’t be here.”

 

 

Ted’s POV:

 

I wasn’t trying to listen in, but all of a sudden I heard a voice from the bedroom say four little words. “I can’t be here.” It was Gracie. She wasn’t shouting, but her tone was loud, and firm, and filled with desperation. I looked nervously over at Jenny, who had joined me in the kitchen after leaving her mother to nap. 

 

When I saw the worry-filled expression on her face, I knew I had to do something. “She could stay with us”, I said. “Gracie, I mean...if...if she wants. You know, until things get settled here.”

 

I knew Blake wouldn’t dare make the offer himself. Deep down he still thought of our apartment as my place, not as a place we shared. “It sounds like she might want to escape for a while”, I said.

 

Jenny’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before she replied. “Oh, no, no. Really, you don’t have to do that. I’ll just take her to a friend’s house again...we have an aunt who lives nearby too.”

 

“Honestly, it wouldn’t be a problem”, I told her. “I mean, our place is a one bedroom, so it’s not ideal, but we have a pull out sofa...and a roof...and walls.” I added awkwardly. 

 

She paused for a moment. “...are you sure? I mean, you really, really don’t have to do that.”

 

“If it’s alright with Blake, then it’s more than alright with me”, I told her with a smile.

 

Just when I mentioned his name, Blake emerged from Gracie’s bedroom, alone, looking horrified and just as lost as he had when I first met him. He called Jenny over, but before she left my side, she told me she would tell him about my offer. 

 

She walked over to him and they exchanged a few words, then disappeared into Gracie’s bedroom. I was alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, picking at my nails anxiously, wondering what was happening beyond that bedroom door. I started to feel sick. I began to wonder if I had interfered again, if I had overstepped my bounds by offering the solution I did.

 

Then Blake appeared in the kitchen doorway. He walked over, stood in front of me, and sighed. I knew Jenny had told him and I wasn’t sure what was to come.

 

“Sorry. I...I should’ve asked you first. I didn’t mean to overhear anything, I just...” I was rambling like an idiot, but I stopped when I noticed him press his lips together. Then he started shaking his head from side to side.

 

“Are you mad?” I asked, barely having the courage to look up at him.

 

A few seconds ticked by and he still hadn’t answered, so I did look at him, peeking up while keeping my head low. Before I knew it, he wrapped his arms around me. And he laughed, just briefly. He laughed and said “I’m not mad”, but the emotion in his voice was clear as day.

 

I closed my eyes and held him, savouring the moment as long as I could. He was in my arms again, and happy this time. 

 

When he let go, he took my hand in his, squeezing it as he spoke. “Are you sure?” he said, in utter disbelief. He always asked me that question, any time I extended a shred of what I considered to be basic human decency, like he couldn’t quite believe that a person could give without expecting something in return. 

 

“Sure I’m sure.” I told him with a smile.

 

Then he lowered his head and still holding my hand, he said “Thank you”, sounding as if the weight of the world had suddenly floated off his shoulders. When he looked back up at me, that earnest look filled his eyes, the one his sister had, the one he had when he had thanked me long ago. 

 

He just looked at me and looked at me and looked at me, for so long that I began to feel embarrassed and lowered my gaze. That’s when I felt his forehead press into mine, and he said it again: “Thank you”, though now his voice was barely a whisper. In that moment, I forgot where I was and I think he did too. There was no death, no grief, no loss, no anger. There was nothing and no one else at all – just him and I, lost in each other. 

 

We hugged again, and he never knew it, but I looked up just in time to see Jenny exit the bedroom. She smiled at me knowingly, and I smiled back as I held her brother, my partner, in my arms.


	12. Daddy's Girl

Ted's POV:

Later that evening, I left Blake to say his goodnights to Gracie. I busied myself in our bedroom, putting a large black plastic bag in the back of my closet. Before we left his house, Jenny handed me the bag, telling me that her brother wouldn't take its contents from her himself, but that "he might want them some day." Even though I had no idea what the contents were, I knew she was bound to be right.

Both Gracie and Blake saw the bag of course, as I hauled it into the car, then up to our apartment. He was quick to tell me to get it "out of the way", which I assumed meant to put it somewhere he wouldn't have to look at it. My closet seemed as good a choice as any.

I wasn't trying to be nosy, but as slid the bag toward the back wall of the closet, it tilted toward me and I saw inside - photo albums, stacked one on top of the other. I had seen them in a box Jenny and I cleared out of the basement earlier that day. I imagined the images their pages might contain – wondered whose faces had been captured and whether they were happy moments or sad ones - but flipping through the pages now seemed far too intrusive. If he wasn't ready to look at them, neither was I. For now, I was more than happy just to have him home again.

 

Blake's POV:

Even though many hours had passed since we arrived, I still couldn't believe she was here, under this roof, next to me. "I feel like I should be tucking you in" I admitted to her bashfully. I felt like a teenager again, and she was that little girl again too, waiting for a bedtime snack and a story.

"I'm not a toddler anymore", she reminded me with a smile.

She was right. I smiled back at her and pulled the sheets down on the pullout sofa bed so she could climb in. "Sorry. It's not the most glamorous arrangement" I told her, staring at the thin, worn out mattress and the mismatched floral patterned sheets.

"That's okay" she said, shrugging her shoulders as she climbed into bed and put her head against the pillow. "I don't need much glamour. And compared to back home, it sort of is."

She was right again, but it saddened me to think about it. I knelt beside the bed, the way I always had when she was child, and asked if she needed anything. She shook her head and I looked at her carefully for a moment. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" I asked, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear so I could see her face more clearly. I knew she knew what "anything" meant, but I didn't dare mention him by name.

She shook her head again and sighed. "I just wanna sleep."

I smiled and nodded, my own eyelids starting to get heavy. "I know what you mean" I told her, as I pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

Just then, she let out small chuckle. "You realize you're tucking me in, you know?"

I took my hand off the covers and held it in the air. I'd been caught. "Sorry. I can't help it" I admitted, sighing to myself. "If you need anything at all, don't be afraid to come and get me, okay?" I told her.

I'm sure it sounds stupid, but it was hard to walk away, even if I was only going as far as my bedroom. Back at the house, I had promised I wouldn't leave her again, and now all I wanted was to be permanently by her side. As I walked away, I hoped sleep would take her quickly and that she wouldn't have to think about anything or anyone that caused her pain.

When I made it to the only proper bedroom in the apartment, I found already Ted lying down; awake though, with the bedside light on.

"She all tucked in?" he asked with a tentative smile.

I couldn't help but let out my own chuckle at how unaware he was at the appropriateness of his question.

"What?" he said, looking confused.

"Nothing", I smiled. "She's all tucked in", I assured him. I took off my shirt and pants and climbed into bed next him, savouring the chance to _finally_ lie down. I could feel him staring over at me and soon, he asked another, tentative question.

"How's she doing?"

"She's alright. She's just tired" I told him, hoping my words were true.

"And you?" he asked, looking over at me with worry in his eyes.

I felt my chest begin to tighten and was about to answer with my standard "I'm fine", but then I heard Jenny's voice in my head. When I said goodbye to her back at the house, she hugged me, and whispered something in my ear that had been repeating on a loop in my mind since I had arrived home. _"He loves you, you know. Just let him in."_ I knew he loved me, and I knew she knew just how guarded I could be. And even though I didn't want to admit it, it was very wise advice.

I turned toward him, took a deep breath, and gathered strength from her words. "I'm- I don't know how I am" I admitted, answering his question honestly for what felt like the very first time. "I'm too many things" I said, sighing as the weight of my guarded exterior began to crumble, if only slightly.

 

Ted's POV:

When Blake got into bed, I asked him how he was, expecting his usual, bare bones "F-word" response, but this time he offered more, much to my surprise. "I don't know how I am. I'm too many things", he said. His honesty filled me with a mixture of happiness and sadness. I nodded at him understandingly as he lay next to me, thinking that would be the extent of his openness. I was wrong.

"I'm happy though", he added suddenly. "That she's here...that you're here." My heart swelled at his words, not because he had mentioned me, but because he was happy. _Happy._ That was all I ever wanted for him.

"I'm glad" I told him, though I was much more than glad. I was elated. I reached over, put my hand on his cheek, and smiled at him brightly.

He lowered his head bashfully and then looked back up at me. "And...thank you again...for everything...for letting her stay here." It was the third time he had thanked me that evening for what I considered to be nothing more than a simple act of kindness – something anyone would and should do.

Before long, I was staring at him again; fascinated by his earnest blue eyes and by the gratitude he had for even the smallest gesture.

He lowered his head to avoid my staring and said: "You must be determined to take in every member of my family."

I could tell he was trying to inject some lightness into the moment, so I followed suit. "Maybe I should open up a Hotel?" I told him sheepishly, hoping it would make him laugh. "Hotel Wyzecki!" I added with a grin.

Much to my delight, he did laugh and he shook his head, the way he always did when I tried to be funny, whether I was successful or not. "Let's just stick to Hotel Gracie for now", he told me.

There was something about the way he said his sister's name that always sounded so... full of light. "You really love her, don't you?" I asked.

"She's my sister" he said, almost nonchalantly. I knew he meant it as an explanation for the love he had for her, but I had never had any siblings, so the bond they shared felt completely foreign. I looked at him, wondering what it must feel like to have a sister he loved so much and who loved him.

"She was always different from the others though" he told me, interrupting my thoughts, and offering up yet another unexpected detail. "Quieter. Shy. A listener, not a talker. When the others were young, they would run around the house together, throw tantrums, make messes all time, like kids do. But she was just happy being an observer, keeping to herself."

"She talked to you though?" I asked, willing his openness to continue.

Then he smiled slightly, as if recalling a happy memory. "She's was my girl", he said. "Always attached to my hip."

"She made a good choice", I told him with a smile.

"Nah", he said humbly. "I think she was just born a daddy's girl."

He smiled after he said it, but his eyes quickly turned sad. It was the first time since getting that awful phone call this morning that he had mentioned the word "dad", or "father", or anything even remotely paternal. I don't think he even meant to say it.

"She was born into the wrong family for that though" he added, with a forced bit of laughter. "When it came to male figures, all she had was me. And I wasn't much better."

But he was. He was so much better than that man. I knew it, and Gracie knew it too. I couldn't stand to look at the sadness in his eyes any longer, so I kissed him and pulled him close until his forehead was touching mine. "You were better", I told him. "You _are_."


	13. Heart and Mind

Ted's POV

Three in the morning and I was still very much awake. No matter how tired I may have been, my eyes refused to close for any longer than a blink, so I just stared at the man lying next to me. Thankfully, he was sound asleep, getting the much needed rest that was owed to him for all he had endured.

A bright full moon hung in the sky and illuminated the gentle curve of his back as it crept in through the curtains on our bedroom window. I smiled at the sight of him - calm and contented, for a moment at least. He was home again, free from that house, along with his sister Gracie – that young girl who wanted nothing more than to escape. She too was fast asleep, tucked in on that old pull out sofa bed in our living room, wrapped in mismatched sheets. It wasn't a glamorous arrangement, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them. For now, it was all they needed.

I continued to lay there and stare at him until my bladder was about to give way. I got up and made my way to the washroom, careful not to disturb either member of the Wyzecki family. As I exited the bathroom though, I heard the floor creaking in the distance.

I took a few steps forward and peeked into the kitchen. There I saw Gracie standing with her hand on a cabinet door. I wrestled with myself about whether I should say something, or simply return to bed and pretend I hadn't seen her. I didn't want to startle her. The last thing she needed on a night like tonight was me emerging from the darkness to frighten her.

Besides, I had no idea what I would say. I had only ever spoken to her briefly and always in the presence of Blake. The thought of having to communicate with her on my own was terrifying, not because she was anything less than lovely, but because I was completely and utterly socially incompetent.

I watched her a moment longer and it became clear that she was looking for something. Now I stood there, torn between my head and my heart – the former imploring me to spare myself the embarrassment of unnecessary social interaction, while the latter urged me to help the young girl find what she was looking for.

Then I remembered something Blake had told me: With kids it's all about instincts, and you've got brilliant instincts, you've just got to trust them. Gracie wasn't technically a "kid", of course, but that didn't stop me from seeing her as one. Compared to her I felt ancient. After he commended my instincts, Blake had told me to use my heart instead of my head, so I did.

I turned the corner and forced a whispered "Hi" from my mouth.

She jumped and looked back, but thankfully didn't scream. We both fumbled an apology, almost in unison, even though I was the only one who had anything to apologize for. "Sorry", she said. "Did I wake you?" Her hand was still on the cabinet doorknob, gripped around it even tighter now thanks to my brilliant, sleuth-like entrance.

"No. No. I just got up to use the washroom", I told her. "Did you need something?" My eyes were darting everywhere now and I began to fidget with my fingers.

"I was just gonna get some water, but nev- nevermind, I'll go back to bed" she said, closing the cabinet door carefully.

"Oh" I said, sounding a bit too relieved. "I can get you some water." Actions were far easier than words. I grabbed a glass down from the cupboard to the left of the one she had opened.

"Really, it's okay", she whispered.

Even though my mind was ruffled by anxiety, my heart smiled briefly at her choice of words: "It's okay". It was something Blake always said to me, any time I apologized to him, or offered him something he felt unworthy to receive. Sometimes he even said it just to calm my unquiet mind.

In fact, it was the very first thing he said to me on the night we met. I bumped into him on Liberty Avenue and quickly apologized. When I turned back to look at him and offered him my "sorry", he said it: "it's okay."

Standing there now beside his sister, I could almost hear his voice in my head. "It's not a problem", I told her. "We have plenty of water. Did you want some ice in it?"

"No, thank you." she said, clearing her throat. "Just water." She had manners like her brother too. With Blake, everything was always please and thank you. He even had manners when I found him in that dark, damp basement all those years ago, lying on a soiled mattress. He asked me to leave, but rather than demand it, he finished his request with a please. I want you to go now. Please. Even in his semi-conscious state, he still managed to force out that extra little word.

"Here you go" I said, handing her a full glass of water. I watched as she took a tentative sip, as if I might scold her for drinking it too quickly.

"Thanks" she said, pressing her top and bottom lips together. My heart smiled again.

In the silence of the night, I heard her stomach growl and remembered that she still hadn't eaten anything since she first arrived. Both she and her brother had refused to eat. I think, despite their need for food, all they really craved was the peacefulness of sleep.

But she was awake now, so I had to ask: "Did you want something to eat?" I tried my best to pretend I hadn't heard her stomach rumble.

"No, no. Water's fine", she said with a faint smile. When she used that all too familiar F-word, I knew she was just trying to be polite in spite of her hunger.

"I'm a little hungry myself" I told her, hoping that my honesty would encourage hers. "Let's see what we have".

I'll never forget the way her eyes widened when I opened the fridge. Either she was even hungrier than I had realised, or she had never seen a fridge quite so full in her life. I'm still not sure which was true.

I leaned over and peered inside. "Hmm, we have apples, some baby carrots, grapes...or if you want something more filling, I can make you something."

She still seemed hesitant though. "Really, I'll just...I'll just go to bed" she said, starting to turn away.

My instincts told me to make one last attempt and I had to trust them. "I was going to have an apple. Did you want to split one with me?" I asked, praying I wasn't pushing her too much or too far. "I mean, you don't have to or anything...if you're really not hungry, or if you're too tired."

She looked at the enormous red apple in my hand, then back up and me, and her mouth broke into a tiny smile.

"Yeah?" I said, returning her small grin.

She nodded, so I sliced up the apple as quietly as I could and put the pieces in a bowl for the both of us.

I felt calmer, able to once again devote my attention to actions rather than words. But it wasn't long before we took a seat at the dining table. Sitting across from her made me more nervous than I had been before. Now there were no actions to distract me, no mission to ensure that her hunger was satisfied, and no instincts to rely upon. It was just her and I, staring at each other, neither of us knowing what to say. So we just began munching, immersed in our mutual awkwardness.

I hated myself for being so nervous around her, especially after how shy Blake told me she could be. She was his sister. She was family. I should at least be able to put her at ease, make conversation, or at least function like a normal human being - but I clammed up as I did with nearly everyone who wasn't a part of my miniscule social circle.

Of course, her being barely a teenager only made matters worse. I still suffered greatly from what I not-so-lovingly referred to as "only child syndrome". I had grown up spending most of my time surrounded by adults rather than with kids my own age. Even at school, I could never relate to my peers. I was like forty year old trapped in the body of child, and they hated me for it. The irony was that now, I felt very much like a child trapped in the body of a forty year old, and many of my peers still hated me for it.

To compensate, I tended to surround myself with extravert personalities; gregarious people who could start our conversations and keep them flowing, until I finally worked up the courage to force a few words from my mouth. Blake was a perfect, shining examples of this, and it was one of the many reasons I loved him so much. He could pull me from my shell of social anxiety with nothing more than his cheerfulness and his smile. Not to mention, he had the patience to wait for me to emerge from that shell at my own pace, no matter how long it took.

Unfortunately, Gracie seemed almost as shy and withdrawn as I was, just as Blake had suggested before he fell asleep. I hoped that she never had to experience the same tightness in her chest, or the same nervousness at the thought of having to converse with a stranger, or heaven forbid the torment and hatred of her teenaged peers. But as I looked at her sitting across from me, watching as she averted her eyes and fidgeted with her fingers in the same way I did, I realized that she likely knew exactly how I felt.

I found a fragment of courage in our similarity and forced myself to say something – make that a dumb thing. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind eating out of the same bowl"

"It's okay" she said again, before taking a long pause. "...with so many siblings, you get used to sharing."

"Oh, yeah" I smiled awkwardly, although in that moment, all I really wanted to do was slam my palm into my forehead.

Then there was another long pause, filled only by the sounds of apple crunching in our mouths. I watched as she stared at the remaining pieces in the bowl.

"At home I used to eat these with peanut butter", she told me.

"Really?" I asked, feeling relieved that she had filled the silence.

"Everyone thinks it's weird" she said bashfully, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke. "Blake liked it too though"

"Hang on a minute" I told her, as I got up from my seat. I knew there was peanut butter somewhere in that fully stocked fridge. After a long search, I found it and returned to the table with a freshly opened jar and a couple of spoons.

"How do you eat it?"I asked, slouching under the weight of my own ridiculous question. "I mean, do you just spoon it on or...?"

"At home we used to just dip the slices right in the jar", she said with a slightly embarrassed expression.

"Oh..." I said. It definitely made more sense, so I tilted the jar in her direction.

She shook her head and adjusted her glasses so they sat on the bridge of her nose. "That's okay. I don't want to ruin your peanut butter."

"Go ahead" I told her, still holding the jar in its tiled position.

She stared at it for a moment, then asked: "Are you sure?", repeating yet another one of Blake's favourite phrases.

"Sure, I'm sure" I told her, just as I always told her brother.

She smiled and dunked in a slice. I followed suit, cautiously. It didn't seem all that appetizing, but it turned out to be.

"Blake would always get in trouble for letting me do this" she told me, dunking a second slice. I wondered what kind of trouble she was referring to. I watched her smile falter, as if she suddenly remembered the person who had done the punishing; the person who would never again be part of her life.

Then she did something both Blake and Jenny had done earlier. She thanked me. "Thank you for um...letting me stay here" she said quietly, tucking another fallen strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, you're welcome. You don't need to thank me" I told her, lowering my head. "Blake's very happy you're here. Not that I'm not happy...I mean..." I fumbled, trying to cover up my careless blunder.

Rather than smile, she looked at me and said: "If I get in the way or anything. Just tell me." Get in the way – like she was a piece of furniture, or a car in a line of traffic.

"You won't get in the way", I assured her.

She adjusted her glasses again. "You let Blake stay here, right?" she asked tentatively. "A long time ago, I mean."

I smiled and nodded. "I did."

Her next question was a simple, but saddening one. "Why? I mean, not many people would do that. Just take somebody in."

I paused for a moment, then told her: "It seemed... like the right thing to do. He needed a place to stay, and I had a place so..." It was an honest answer, but an incomplete one. I didn't dare tell her that her brother had overdosed and wound up in the hospital. I didn't dare tell her that I was the only who had stayed with him, and that there was no one else who would take him in.

"Wow..." she said, a shocked expression sweeping across her face. And there it was again, the trait I now realized ran deep in the Wyzecki family - that reaction of disbelief to the simplest form human decency, as if it was impossible for someone to give without expecting something in return.

She stopped eating and began picking at her finger nails, staring down at them as she spoke. "He...he always says he was really...messed up back then...with the drugs and everything".

Until she said mentioned the drugs, I wasn't sure whether she knew anything at all about her brother's addiction, but it was clear now that she did.

"Not messed up", I told her. "Just...lost" I said, recalling the apt choice of words Jenny had made earlier.

She nodded understandingly and stayed silent for moment, still picking and staring at her nails. "But you found him?" she said, with a glimmer of hope in her voice.

"I guess I did. Yeah", I told her, smiling to myself. Her brother and I always had a knack for losing ourselves and finding each other.

Then she mentioned her father for the first time that evening. "My um...dad...he was here right?" she asked. "That's how Blake got the..." She trailed off and pointed to her eye. "Isn't it?"

I couldn't lie to her, so I just nodded. I still felt guilty for not having the courage to stop him before he had the chance to leave his mark.

She just nodded back at me, then shook her head from side to side, as if disapproving of her father's actions.

My instincts had told me not to bring up that man unless she did, and now that she had, I felt free to ask about the wounds she carried with her – the external one, at least. "How's your back?" I inquired with a sympathetic smile.

After she had bandaged and cleaned it, Jenny told me about the mark he left on Gracie. I had asked Blake about it first, but he fumbled and avoided the question. He didn't seem to have the strength to tell me about his sister's seared flesh or the event that caused it. Even though Jenny did summon that strength, I knew she had likely censored the story to spare me any gruesome details. I hadn't seen the wound with my own eyes, but I sensed that it was even worse than what my imagination could conjure.

Gracie's shy, yet stoic never faltered though. "Oh, it's fine..." she told me, using that F-word again – the one that always seemed to suggest otherwise. "...As long as it doesn't touch anything. I'll be sleeping on my stomach for a while, I think."

I lowered my head and swallowed nervously, struggling to keep my imagination from running wild. "I'm really sorry about your back...and about your father."

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled faintly. "Thanks" she said, still shy and stoic as ever.

My instincts were kicking in again and I forced myself to trust them. Feeling the moment was right, I told her what I had wanted to tell her since I first met her. "Just so you know..." I said. "I think you're really strong. You're much stronger than I would be in this situation, that's for sure."

I could tell praise made her as uncomfortable as it always made me. So I looked away for a moment and noticed a single piece of apple still sitting in the bowl between us. "It's all yours" I told her, sliding it in her direction. This time she didn't protest my attempt at satisfying her rumbling tummy. Instead, she took the piece of apple from the bowl and ate it with a smile.

\-----------------

When I crept back into bed that evening, Blake was still sleeping peacefully. I treasured the rise and fall of each one of his slow, deep breaths. My eyes closed, this time for longer than a blink, but in the stillness, my mind began to overtake my heart as it always seemed to, especially in moments like these.

I knew it was wrong, but part of me felt happy that neither Blake nor his sister would ever have to face their father again. They deserved so much better. Still, my heart broke for both of them when I thought of the road that lay ahead. Not just the grief or the practical matters related to death, but the fact that so many of their life events would now have to be endured without a father by their side. He should have been there. He should have had the strength to go on and to be better, if only for them.

As I thought about the many internal and external wounds he had inflicted on his children, any remaining sympathy I had for the man slowly vanished. All I cared about now was ensuring that my partner and his family stayed afloat in the rocky waves their father's death had created. I just hoped that I remembered how to swim.


	14. Floating

Ted's POV

I awoke that morning and rolled over to find Blake's side of the bed empty. I checked the clock - ten after ten. I had overslept and even that was understatement. I put on some clothes as quickly as I could, eager to see what Blake and his sister might be up to.

I came into the kitchen and found a sight that managed to delight my sleep-filled eyes. Blake and Gracie were standing side by side, chattering away quietly with smiles on their faces. I took a moment to savour their happiness, and then cleared my throat to let them know I was finally awake.

"Hey!" Blake said turning toward me, his voice full of life. Gracie looked over and offered a shy smile, hidden from her brother's view.

"Sorry I slept in so late", I told them both.

"It's okay" Blake said, extending his usual two-word response, right on queue. "We are going to cook you up a storm", he nearly sang. "...and by 'storm', I mean breakfast."

I couldn't help but smirk at his exuberance. "Can I do anything to help?" I inquired, knowing he would probably tell me there was nothing I needed to do.

"No, no. Just have a seat" he told me, as I knew he would. "I put today's paper on the table. Do you want something to drink?"

My eyes widened. Not only was the paper there, the table was already set too. "I'm..." I almost used his famous F-word, but stopped myself before it left my mouth. "I'm good...I'm great", I told him.

"Okay, so we have two options" he told me, putting his hand lightly on his sister's shoulder as if to emphasize the 'we' in his statement. "Pancakes or eggs?" he asked me.

"Whatever Gracie wants" I said, smiling in the young girl's direction.

He gazed for a moment, looking slightly confused as his eyes darted between our mutual smiles. "What do ya say, kiddo?" he asked, looking down at her.

She seemed more than a little nervous at having to make the decision. "I don't know" she murmured bashfully, lifting her fingers to her mouth.

"Either one's fine with us" Blake assured her, glancing over at me to check whether or not he was correct. I smiled to let him know he was.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, Gracie revealed her choice, whispering it into her brother's ear.

"Pancakes it is!" he exclaimed.

I sat there at the kitchen table soaking in his vitality, and though I wondered just how long it would last, it didn't stop me from delighting in the sights and sounds of their togetherness. I kept my eyes mostly on the newspaper, but smiled to myself as they began to chatter away again, seemingly forgetting I was in the room. I was glad to be forgotten though. It gave me a window into their world that I had always hoped I would be given.

They were an incredible team. She fetched him everything he needed and seemed more than happy to do so, while he began measuring out ingredients. I imagined the two of them years ago, standing in their kitchen in much the same way, clamouring about, smiling, and enjoying their time together.

Twenty minutes passed and I realised I hadn't read a single news story. My eyes were on the paper, yes, but my mind was focused more on them than on the words in front of me. I did peek over once or twice, of course, returning my eyes quickly to the paper so neither one of them would catch me. On the third time though, I stared at little longer. My gaze caught on a red tea towel draped over Blake's left shoulder.

I smiled as a vision of him from years ago filled my mind. It was shortly after I had brought him home from the hospital to stay with me; I returned from work that evening to find him, not in bed as he should have been, but working away in the kitchen, a tea towel slung over his shoulder in that very same way. Even then he looked truly in his element, cooking away as if it was completely second nature. On that evening, his trusted sidekick was missing, and now, he was clearly delighted to have her by his side again.

Somehow, despite the welcome addition of Gracie and the cramped quarters of our kitchen, he managed to cook everything without ever making a mess. Even on that night I had arrived home from work all those years ago, the kitchen was utterly, almost eerily spotless, especially considering the number of dishes he had somehow managed to prepare. This morning was no exception.

It was glaringly and comically different to the way Emmett operated in the kitchen during the short time we lived together. If he was cooking, there was guaranteed to be more food on the floor, on the counter, and strewn across the cabinet doors than anywhere near a frying pan or a pot. I may have adored him, but I would be lying if I said the neat freak in me didn't weep each time he told me he would "whip up" a quick meal.

I must have laughed out loud as the image of that food-covered kitchen entered my mind because I suddenly heard Blake direct a one-word question toward me. "What?" he asked, looking over with a playful expression.

"Nothing" I told him, shaking my head and feeling slightly embarrassed.

Thankfully, it didn't take him long to return to the task at hand, and soon the smell and sizzle of pancakes began to fill the air.

"Smells amazing" I told them, lifting my nose in the air to take in the scrumptious scent.

He smiled at his sister and seized the opportunity to give her confidence a boost; the same opportunity he always took whenever my own confidence had dwindled, which happened more often than I cared to admit. "With Gracie in the kitchen, they're bound to taste amazing too", he exclaimed enthusiastically.

"I don't doubt it", I told them both. I was sure they would.

The young girl blushed and lowered her head instantly. "What else can I do?" she asked, quickly diverting the attention away herself in the same way I had many times.

"How about you take the syrup over to the table, okay?" he told her, fetching the bottle from the fridge.

She brought it over and gave me a shy smile as she set it down next to my plate. "Thanks you" I whispered, smiling back at her with equal shyness.

Then Blake began surveying the kitchen with a spatula dangling from his right hand. "Plates, plates, plates" he chanted, as if he hoped they would come when called.

Before he had a chance to find them, Gracie had them in her hands and was ready at his side. "Anything else?" she asked quietly, looking up at him.

"You can have a seat with Ted if you want" he told her, but she still seemed eager to help. He chuckled when, after a few seconds, he realized she hadn't yet left his side. "Or...if you really want to, you can start putting all the ingredients away", he told her.

She took on the task happily and began clearing the counters, putting the eggs, milk, and butter back into the refrigerator.

I returned my eyes to the newspaper until I heard something drop to the floor. When I looked over, I saw a bag of flour, tipped over, lying sideways on the tile. There was a white, powdery mess scattered across the kitchen floor.

I wasn't sure how the flour had wound up there, but then Gracie began to panic. Her face turned red instantly and she apologized again and again, repeating the word "sorry" until it seemed to lose all meaning. It was like she was sure someone was going to snap at her; like her panic came not from the mess she had accidentally created, but from the anticipation of what she was sure would follow it.

Blake was quick to reassure her though, as I knew he would be. "Hey, hey. It's okay" he told her, remaining light-hearted and calm as he leaned down and picked up the fallen bag. "It's only flour."

Despite his calm and collected approach, I could see her eyes begin to well up with tears. She was about to get down on her hands and knees to clean up the scattered white mess until he stopped her. "Gracie...look..." he said, taking gentle hold of her arm and directing her attention to the bag of flour in his left hand. Both she and I watched as he stuck his hand inside the bag and pulled out whatever bit of flour would fit in the pinch between his pointer finger and his thumb.

Then he raised an eyebrow, smiled just slightly, and let the flour fall from his fingers to the floor. "See?" he said. "It's only flour." While she gazed wide-eyed at the tile beneath her feet, he looked over at me and mouthed a "sorry" of his own, probably thinking that the neat freak in me would be cringing at the added mess. I wasn't cringing though, just watching in awe as he skilfully and lovingly defused the entire situation.

When Gracie looked back up him, clearly still distressed, he tilted the bag of flour toward her. "Go ahead", he insisted. She looked baffled, and rather than do as he suggested, she glanced over at me. Like her brother, she must have thought of this apartment as my place rather than his, and now she wanted my approval before doing as he asked. I nodded at her reassuringly, but she stood frozen in place, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. So I let my instincts take over and I walked to Blake's side. Once there, I stuck my own hand in the bag of flour, and grabbed out an even bigger pinch than he had managed. I tossed it to the floor as nonchalantly as I could, momentarily shocking both her and her brother. They may not have known it, but I would have gladly silenced my inner neat freak a thousand times to preserve whatever happiness they had managed to grab hold of that morning.

I watched as the corners of Gracie's mouth turned upward into a hesitant smile. She reached into the bag slowly and grabbed her own bit of flour, finally letting her panic subside as she dropped it to the floor. When she looked back up at her brother and me, an even bigger smile was painted on her face.

"That's it!" Blake exclaimed, cheering her on and returning her grin. In the middle of his cheering though, he took a moment to glance over at me, this time mouthing a characteristically earnest "thank you."

I smiled and nodded just slightly, grateful as I always was for his unending thankfulness. Then, surprising both of them once more, I reached into the bag of flour, this time grabbing a whopping handful and throwing it into the air.

I watched, delighted as their eyes widened and they both burst into laughter. Before long we were all dunking our hands in the flour and tossing it upward, creating a cloud of white powder above our heads. It was bliss, for me and for them. I would have gladly made that moment last forever if could have. I longed for some magical power that would keep this joy alive and protect it from the waves I knew were rising underneath. For now though, we were floating above them - safe, happy, and carefree.


	15. Down to Earth

Ted’s POV

We had cleaned up the flour and just finished eating when reality began to ground us once again. 

Gracie put down her fork after swallowing her last mouthful of pancake and asked, with great hesitation, if her brother would change the bandage on her back. In the bliss of that morning I had nearly forgotten about her wound.

I looked over at Blake, carefully watching his reaction to the mention of it. I knew he was nervous, but he never let it show, at least not to Gracie. He just looked at her and said “I sure will”, as if he was completely at ease.

A short time later, they disappeared into the bathroom and I began clearing the dishes from the table.

 

Blake’s POV.

I felt uneasy at the sight of the bandage alone. Jenny had given me strict instructions to change it every twenty-four hours, so I knew this moment was unavoidable.

“Let me know if I hurt you, okay?” I told her. It was a ridiculous thing to say, given how much I knew I already had.

I began to peel back the tape from around the bandage and little by little her wound was revealed. Even though I had seen it before, the sight of it made my heart plummet to my feet. It hadn’t started to scab yet – her skin was still raw and red and torn.

I had forgotten she could see my face in the bathroom mirror until she asked: “Is it that bad?” 

I must have looked horrified, but I quickly snapped myself into composure. “It’ll heal up just fine”, I assured her. Deep down though, I wasn’t sure it ever would, emotionally at least. Her body would repair itself, but I had no idea how her mind would ever recover from the damage he had done. Mine never really had.

As I prepared a fresh bandage, she stopped me and asked, “Can I...let it breathe...just for a minute?”

“Sure you can, kiddo”, I told her before inviting her to leave the confines of the bathroom. “You want to go back out into the living room and have a seat?”

“No, no. In here. Just for a minute.” She seemed happy in the seclusion of the bathroom and I couldn’t blame her. Bathrooms had always been my escape – the one place people couldn’t or wouldn’t bother you.

I patted the edge of the tub and took a seat there in my usual spot. She sat down beside me with the back of her shirt still up and her wound still exposed. Even though the sight of it horrified me, I kept staring at it. I don’t know why. 

“You sure you don’t want some pain killers or some ice?” I couldn’t believe she wasn’t in agony. If she was, she wasn’t letting it show. 

“I’m fine. It feels good to let the air hit it”, she told me with a small smile. But I knew what ‘fine’ meant. 

“I bet” I said, willing myself to smile back at her. We stayed silent for a minute or two, seated on the cool, hard surface of the tub. Then I reached over and tucked a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear. “How are you doing, kiddo?” I wanted to see her face when I she answered the question.

“I’m good”, she said with another faint closed-mouthed smile. 

“That’s good” I told her, trying my best to sound light-hearted. “But if you’re ever not good, don’t be afraid to tell me. And if you decide you’re not happy here, or you’d rather be back home or at a friend’s, that’s fine too.”

“No, no. I like it here” she was quick to add, her smile growing bigger. “I can’t believe I just threw flour around the kitchen.” She laughed bashfully and tucked a bit of hair behind her other ear.

Despite her laughter, I knew she was thinking of that man, and maybe even of those little O’s crashing to the floor like rain on the night I left. In that house, no mess ever escaped punishment and no person was ever encouraged to create one. I wanted so badly to change that. Covering the kitchen with flour was a small price to pay for her freedom. 

I looked over at her carefully and noticed a white, powdery substance on the top of her head. “You still have some in your hair”, I told her with a laugh.

Immediately her hand jetted up to her head. “Here, I’ll get it” I told her, as I started to brush the flour from her hair.

“How’s mine?” I asked, tilting my head toward her. 

She smirked up at me and patted some from my head, but soon her smile slowly faded. “Sorry for spilling it...the first time, I mean. I shouldn’t have carried so many things at once.”

The tone of her voice was unmistakably sad. “It’s okay” I told her. “I dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor once. The whole thing – SPLAT!”

I had hoped she would laugh but she just asked, “Was Ted mad?” Either she could sense his inner neat freak or she still assumed every person - every man at least – would react with anger to an accidental mess.

I shook my head. “I think he slept through it”, I told her. “He could sleep through a hurricane. Not like us.” I knew we were both light sleepers, or at least we had been back at the house. I think it came from living under the same roof as that man. Our bodies learned to be alert and aware of impending danger at all times. We were never really safe. And we knew it.

Then she said three little words that made my heart shoot from my toes back up to my chest. 

“I like Ted.”

“You do, huh?” I said, leaning gently into her shoulder. I wasn’t shocked by her admission. I had seen the two of them exchanging shy smiles throughout the making and eating of breakfast. It must have been that – the shyness – that drew them together. I knew she had always felt like an outsider growing up. If you were shy in our family, you were very quickly forgotten. I never did forget her though. I never could.

I wasn’t expecting her to say anything more, but then she did. “He’s really nice.”

I smiled inside and out. “He is.” I knew that better than anyone on the planet. I knew it instantly. When you make your living going home with strangers, you learn to read people, and you learn to be weary, very weary. But from the moment I met Ted, I felt safe. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me the way so many other men had. 

I was lost in a memory when she looked up at me and asked a question. 

“How are you?”

I knew she wouldn’t have asked it unless there was a part of her that was worried. “Don’t you worry about me”, I told her. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

“It must hurt though”, she said. “...your eye, I mean.”

It did, but I had gotten used to the pain a long time ago, and I knew it had to hurt a lot less than her back, no matter how brave she was trying to be. 

“Nah. I forgot all about it until just now”, I told her.

She tilted her head down. “Oh...I shouldn’t have brought it up then.”

“It’s okay”, I assured her. “You can talk about anything you want to talk about.” If there was one trait I hoped she hadn’t picked up from me it was my inability to verbalize anything I was feeling. I hoped she wouldn’t bottle everything up the way I had learned to while under that roof. There was nothing that man hated more than feelings, tears, vulnerability – anything he deemed unmanly or weak. “Quit your crying!” he’d always say any time he caught my eyes beginning to water.

I was lost in my thoughts again, his voice ringing in my head, when I noticed her mumble something. 

“Hmm?” I murmured, turning my head toward her.

“N-nothing”, she said. “I think I’m ready for that bandage now.” 

And just like that, I’d missed my chance. 

“You sure?” I asked, hoping I could encourage her to say whatever it was she was going to, but she just nodded, and I wasn’t going to pry any further. I knew how felt to be pushed to speak when I couldn’t find the words.

“You’re trying to counsel me, aren’t you?” she asked me with a cheeky smile.

I’d been caught. Again. 

I mimed zipping my mouth shut. “Sorry. I’ll save that for work.” Work. I had almost forgotten about it. My new program. My patients. My meetings. My life.

I put a fresh bandage on her wound, surprising myself that I managed to do it without any major mishaps. I was so afraid that the tape would catch on a raw bit of her skin, or that I would press too hard when affixing it, or worst of all that I had been causing her pain all along without realising it.

“Good as new!” I said brightly, as we looked at each other in the bathroom mirror. “What do ya say we go find that nice fellow? He’s probably getting lonely out there.”

 

 

Ted’s POV:

I had been practicing what to say to them when they finally did emerge from the bathroom. I wasn’t sure whether their moods would be dampened by the sudden jolt into reality the young girl’s wound had given them both. I wasn’t sure what they would talk about in the confines of that tiny room, or whether they would talk at all. I had to be prepared for anything.

I was delighted and somewhat shocked when the bathroom door opened to reveal two smiling faces. And they weren’t just smiling – they were smiling at me. Even though I had no idea why, I smiled back, happy that their joy seemed to have survived the decent into reality.

“Good as new!” Blake was quick to chime out. 

He came over to me and, for some strange reason, he started inspecting my hair. “He’s got some in his hair too, Gracie”, he said with a wide grin.

I looked at him, puzzled. Some of what?, I wondered. Then he told me.

“Flour.”

“Ah” I said, suddenly remembering the white cloud that had been hovering above our heads. As I brushed it from my hair, he turned his attention to the blond strands on his sister’s head.

“I can’t believe how long your hair has gotten”, he told her.

I watched as she smiled at him and then made her way over to the black duffle bag she had brought with her when she came to stay. She pulled out a single hair tie from its front pocket and held it in the air for her brother to see. It seemed to be some kind of signal because Blake pulled out a chair at the dining table without even needing to be asked. 

He patted the seat, inviting her over. “What’ll it be today, madam?” he asked her in a faux posh accent that seemed to delight her.

She took a seat in the chair and smiled brightly, then thought for a moment. “A braid. A French braid” she told him, tilting her head all the way back so she could see her brother’s face.

“Comin’ right up!” he exclaimed, as he went to work, soon revealing a talent I never knew he had. 

I stood behind him and watched, dazed as his fingers whipped through her blond hair and began to style it into a thing of beauty. “How...how are you doing this?” I asked, completely baffled.

He laughed at my bewildered question. “When you’ve got five sisters, knowing how to do this is sort of requirement” he said, smiling back at me playfully.

This wasn’t just “doing” hair though - this was some kind of magic. I was sure of it. “Is speed a requirement too?” I asked, watching his fingers as they sped through the golden strands.

“It had to be”, he told me. “Otherwise I never would’ve gotten out of the house in the morning.”

I didn’t doubt the truth in his words. I just continued to watch him until he stopped and seemed satisfied with his creation.

“Wow.” I let the word fall from my mouth without even realising it.

“There you are madam – one French braid” he said, returning to that posh voice she seemed to love.

She got up from the chair and smiled at him, while she patted her newly styled hair with both her hands. Then I noticed them both looking over at me, as if they were formulating some secret plan. There was a deviously playful grin on Blake’s face and I knew I was in trouble. Seconds later, they each grabbed one of my hands and sat me down in the chair. I laughed and fumbled my words out awkwardly. “I...wait...what are you...?”

They laughed too and before I knew it Gracie was busy fetching more hair ties from her duffle bag.

“I don’t have any hair for you to...” I began to protest to both of them.

“Shh!” Blake said, ignoring my plea. “What do you think, Gracie? I think we can manage something.”

I was defeated, but still smiling.

Blake made his way around to the front of the chair and proceeded to tie three tiny pony tails at the front of my head. There couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty strands of hair in each one. 

“There!” he grinned wildly, satisfied once again with his creation. “Perfect.” He put his hands on my cheeks and I gave him a playful scowl. 

Gracie even came around to have a peek at my tethered locks. She did her best to hold in her laughter, but it was no use. I knew I looked ridiculous, and it was time for revenge. I got up from the chair and gave Gracie the same devious smile her brother had given me – and just like that, our plan was in motion. We grabbed Blake’s hands and sat him down in the chair.

“Oh, I see what’s going on here!” he laughed, throwing up his arms. “Okay, okay! I surrender! Do what you want.”

Gracie handed me her last hair tie and I managed to gather just enough hair for a single pony tail at the front of his head. I learned down in front of him, pretending to inspect my work. “I don’t know. I’m definitely not cut out for this whole stylist thing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!” he exclaimed, smirking as he got from the chair and headed for the bathroom. “C’mon! Let’s have a look at our new dos”

He ushered Gracie and I into the room with him and stood us at his side – me on his right and Gracie on his left. 

“GORGEOUS!” he proclaimed, with his hand outstretched toward the mirror. 

Gracie and I couldn’t help but laugh at his proclamation and at the goofy, exaggerated grin painted on his face.

“Hang on. Hang on. We need a picture of this gorgeousness!” he said.

I hated, and I mean hated having my picture taken, but I would silence that hatred just as I had silenced my inner neat freak, if only to preserve the goofy grins on their faces.

He pulled his phone out of his left front pocket and held it in front of us. “Everyone say ‘Pancakes!’

We did as he instructed, shouting “PANCAKES!' in near perfect unison as he eagerly snapped the photograph.

As he was holding up the phone to show Gracie and I the end result, it rang, and “Jenny Wyzecki” flashed on the call display.

Gracie’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw the name. “Can I...can I talk to her?” she asked eagerly, with that “pancakes” smile still on her face.

“Sure, kiddo” he said, handing his phone to her as it continued to ring.

She wasted no time in answering it and quickly left the bathroom with the phone pressed to her ear. Blake and I could hear her as she began to cheerfully rattle off the things we had done that morning. We made pancakes...Blake did my hair...We did Ted’s hair too. 

We both smiled to ourselves in unison, our gazes meeting on the tile beneath our feet. Blake was the first to look up. He looked at me and looked at me and looked at me for so long that I began to feel embarrassed. Then, in our moment of aloneness, he put his arms on my shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed me. A real, deep, passionate kiss. The sort of kiss that had been missing from our lives for far too long. In an instant, I was breathless. All of me wanted all of him, but I knew we wouldn’t be alone for long.

When our lips parted, I waited for him to say something, but he just stared and stared, his blue eyes shining brightly as they gazed into mine. 

He did speak, eventually, and it was only one word. “Hi”. 

“Hi” I repeated back to him, breaking into a bashful smile as he continued to stare. 


	16. Words of Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, everyone. I have a feeling that the few of you who were reading this story have probably lost interest, and I wouldn’t blame you, given how slow I have been with updating it. In any case, here is a new chapter, thanks to a new wave of creative energies and a bit of free time. I have two more chapters completed after this one and there are even more still to come. I hope life has been treating you all well. A big thank you for reading, as always! Comments are welcome and very much appreciated :)

Ted's POV:

Blake spent the remainder of that Sunday with his sister Jenny, tackling the practical and financial matters surrounding their father’s death – funeral arrangements, bills, payments – all things which should have no place in the lives of grieving relatives. I offered to go with him of course, but he refused, just as I thought he would. He even offered to take Gracie with him; a gesture I’m sure was made as a kind attempt to rescue us both from drowning in our mutual social awkwardness. 

I refused his offer though, not because I was sure either of us would be entirely comfortable, but because the young girl didn’t deserve to be dragged any further into the rippling waves her father’s death had created.

He promised he would only be gone for a few hours. So there we were, Gracie and I, sat on the same sofa, under the same roof, without Blake’s extraverted, gregarious personality to save us from our silence. 

In truth though, I wanted to talk to her again, even if it did mean enduring the occasional embarrassing stammer or awkward pause. 

I decided to begin by referencing the only history that existed between us.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “We have some more apples in the fridge...and there’s still plenty of peanut butter.”

“Oh, that’s okay”, she replied politely. “I think those pancakes will keep me full for a while.”

Like a fool, I had forgotten about the humungous breakfast we had consumed little more than an hour ago. “Right” I said, awash in embarrassment.

“Did you want to watch some TV?” I asked, hoping that would be a more suitable suggestion.

“Sure”, she said.

I flipped around the channels, unsure of what she would want to watch, and growing more nervous by the second. “You can change the channel if you want. Just press these buttons here” I told her, pointing the up and down arrows on the remote. 

“That’s okay. I’ll watch anything really” she said, opting for politeness once again.

After much more flipping and a great deal more silence, I stumbled upon a commercial – one of those usual back-to-school ads with smiling children, who looked impossibly happy to be returning to the place within the education system. 

While the commercial provided little in the way of entertainment value, it did give me something I was desperate for - a topic of conversation. I glanced over at Gracie, and watched her watch the screen as I gathered the confidence to inject some sound into the silence. I cleared my throat and hesitantly asked, “What grade are you in?”

“Oh”, she said, jumping slightly at the sound of my voice. “Ninth”, she smiled. “Not yet, I mean...I’ll be starting high school in September.”

Something within me still cringed at the sound of those two words: high school. There were many periods of my life I wished I could forget, and the four years I spent within those school walls were near the top of the list. 

Unfortunately, it was August, and she was due to begin that long, arduous journey in just two short weeks. I hoped I would be able to offer some positive, or at the very least witty remark, but the only thing I could think to do was repeat those cringe worthy words. “High school, huh?”

I’m sure I sounded like a fool, but she just nodded and offered another polite smile, after which the conversation seemed to fizzle and dissolve away.

I sensed that she too felt a similar sting of dread upon hearing those two words. “Are you excited?” I asked, smiling briefly, in an attempt to allay the fears I suspected she might have.

“Not-not really.” She smiled cautiously when she said it, as if she was hesitant to answer my question with anything other than a simple, agreeable "yes”. I stayed silent in return, biding my time, hoping my quietness would rid her of her hesitation, and eventually, it did.

“...more like terrified” she admitted, laughing nervously as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

I was grateful for her honesty and I was quick to echo it with my own. “That’s alright. Me too.” I told her, only to fumble over my attempt at reassurance a few seconds later. “I mean, you know, when I was your age.”

I wished I could have told her there was nothing to be afraid of, that high school was a beautiful place full of kind people and wonderful memories waiting to be made, but I knew better than most just how hateful a place it could be, especially to people like us, who struggled to be seen and heard amongst all that commotion. 

I didn’t want to lie to her, and yet the truth as I knew it seemed far too harsh. So I opted for a middle ground: optimism. Optimism and a compliment.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about though” I assured her, fidgeting with my fingers as I spoke. “I bet you’ll be the smartest kid in your class”. I could tell she was incredibly smart. I knew a quiet mouth usually belied a very loud mind; I just hoped hers was kinder to her than it was cruel.

“Nah” she said bashfully, shaking off my praise while a bit of colour rose to her cheeks. “Actually...it’s...not really the academic stuff I’m worried about”, she told me.

I knew exactly what it was she was trying to say. “More the people stuff?” I asked.

She nodded shyly. “I’m not very good with crowds...or making friends...or you know...talking to people.”

As she spoke, I couldn’t help but feel I was listening to a teenaged version of myself, and that only made me sad for her. I knew the worst thing wasn’t simply to feel anxious, or scared, or nervous as we often did, but to feel alone in those feelings; to feel that those feelings were abnormal, or strange, or weird, or at the very worst, entirely invalid. 

So, I pushed that sadness down, and summoned some of her brother’s youthful enthusiasm, doing my very best to make her feel a little less alone.

“Me either!” I exclaimed in agreement, sighing dramatically.

She chuckled at my over the top display and a broad, genuine smile swept across her face. 

I couldn’t rid her of her insecurities any more than I could rid myself of my own, but I could be there for her, maybe, in some small way. 

“You’re doing a great job talking right now, by the way” I told her. And she was. 

“Thanks. You too” she said, the apples of her cheeks rounded as she continued to smile.

It was at that moment that I decided to take a risk. I raised my hand in the air, my palm toward her, and I waited. It had been years since I had given or been given a high five, but I thought maybe this was one of the few occasions in life where such a silly gesture could be deemed appropriate. Thankfully, and much to my relief, she touched her palm to mine, in what could only be described as the world’s most delicate high-five. She laughed as our hands collided, her smile growing even brighter.

It seemed the physical contact had brought about a fresh awkwardness in both us, because before long, things were silent again. We directed our attention to the television screen in front of us, and when another round of commercials hit, she spoke, softly and with great apprehension. “I’m-I’m not sure how my brother does it”, she said laughing quietly to herself.

“Does what?” I asked, grateful to hear her voice again, no matter how meek it may have been.

“Well, I mean...that’s what he does at work, does-doesn’t he? Talks to groups of people all day?”

“He does”, I nodded, smiling at the memory.

She shook her head just slightly and then let her gaze fall to the floor. “I would probably have a heart attack if it were me” she conceded with great timidity. “I’m no good at being the center of attention.”

I decided to spare her yet another ‘me too’, although it would have been the truth. “Well...” I began, uncertain of how exactly I should respond. “I’m sure he’d be able to give you some advice. You know, about the people stuff”, I told her. “He’s excellent at that sort of thing.” 

He really was. I too marvelled at the way he could stand at the helm of those groups and speak with such confidence, while never once drifting toward arrogance or condescension. He may not have been able to talk about his own feelings with any regularity or ease, but he could unearth the feelings of others with incredible skill. And boy, could he listen. Never in my life had anyone listened to me the way he did, not even Emmett. 

Don’t get me wrong, Emmett was wonderful. He was encouraging and positive and wanted the very best for me, but I could tell when he got tired of hearing me grumble. He let out a frustrated sigh or say things like: “Poor baby” and “Oh Teddy, you’ve been listening to too many operas”. Things I’m pretty sure were designed to get me to quit blabbering. When that didn’t work, he would resort to physically pulling me off the couch, or the bed, or wherever it was I happened to spilling my thoughts. Then, he would drag me to Babylon or to Woody’s ‘to help get my mind off it’, he said. 

But I don’t think he ever realised that sometimes, my mind needed to be on it – whatever it was – for however long it took me to work through it.

I think this was something Blake always innately understood. He would listen to me for ramble on for hours while I expelled every last thought from my mind; and no matter how gloomy or ridiculous my many words may have sounded, he never judged me for them. And he never spoke until he was sure I had finished talking. Only then would he chime in with some beautiful nugget of wisdom, or a thoughtful reminder, or sometimes just a simple change of topic – whatever I needed in that moment – he gave it to me.

It may not seem like much, but for someone like me, who was so used to being ignored and brushed off and shut out, it was everything. Rarely did people actually listen when I spoke. Of course every beautiful man in Babylon gave me the cold shoulder; that was a given; something I had come to expect. But I got the sense that even my friends tuned me out much of the time. I couldn’t really blame them though. In their eyes, I was just ‘good old predictable Ted’. I griped about the same things day after day, and year after and year. I ordered the same food at the same diner, wore the same clothes, and worked out at the same gym, with the same glum expression painted on my face. It was no wonder Brian used to joke that mine was ‘a voice from the dead’.

So, to have someone like Blake by my side, who listened when I spoke and looked at me as though I was the most important person in his world, even when that world was crumbling, was nothing less than extraordinary.

I probably would have daydreamt about him forever, had reality not pulled me in when Gracie cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Do...do you have any advice?” she asked delicately, emphasizing the ‘you’ in her question.

My mouth hung open and I could feel my entire body tense up. Her brother may have been a skilled advisor, but I was not. “Advice about...people stuff?” I asked, swallowing my anxieties in the middle of my inquiry.

She nodded, seeming hopeful that I had some wise words to offer her. But I was the last person, and I mean the very last person anyone should be asking for advice about people stuff. I became a numbers man precisely because I could never deal with the people stuff.

I must have looked bewildered because she was quick to retract her question. “Nevermind” she told me, adjusting her classes on the bridge of her nose as she spoke. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

Still, I felt I owed her something, some crumb of wisdom I could pass down to her from one introvert to another. “That’s alright. Um...” I began searching my brain for anything worthy of being shared.

I thought and thought and eventually, something very simple came to my mind. “Sometimes a compliment works wonders”, I said. “It...doesn’t have to be anything, you know, flirtatious or...or romantic. You could just tell someone you like their hat, or their backpack, or their glasses.”

She nodded along, taking in my words, but never speaking again to stop me. So I searched my brain again, stumbling upon a tactic from my teenage years. “Or...and I used to do this a lot”, I told her. “When I sat down on the first day of class, I would ask the person next to me if they were there for math too, or science or whatever class it was, just to make sure I wasn’t lost. Usually I knew I was in the right place”, I admitted. “...but it was the only way I could think to make conversation.”

She smiled this time, but still remained quiet. 

The closest I came to wisdom was moments later, when I happened upon a realization I had buried inside me for years. “It took me a while to realise that everyone was nervous. Maybe not as nervous as I was, but they were. They were just better at hiding it.” 

I was surprised by the truth in my own words, and then I became aware of just how many of them I had let slip from my mouth. “Sorry”, I gulped. “That was really longwinded. Probably not very helpful, was it?”

“No, no. That was...great.” she said, seemingly amazed by my rambling attempt at wisdom. “You should write a book or something”, she remarked with a shy smile.

Before I could respond with my thanks, there was a thunderous knock at the door. I got up from the sofa, weary of who would be waiting on the other side, as we weren’t expecting any visitors. 

Thankfully, when I opened it, I was greeted by a grinning Debbie, dressed in full garb – vest, buttons, wig, and of course, her unmistakably vibrant personality. 

“Hey, honey!” she exclaimed, her voice bellowing throughout the apartment even though she had yet to step inside it. “I’m on my lunch break from the diner. The boys told me the news, and I thought I’d swing buy and bring you boys some...”

“Lemon bars.” I recognized the Styrofoam container in her hand, and the faint scent of citrus hitting my nose. “Thank you” I told her, inviting her in as she passed me the container.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, no doubt looking for the blond man who always greeted her so warmly.

“He’s out. Just um...” I paused, scratching my the back of head nervously, unsure of how I should answer the question, especially while in Gracie’s presence. “...making some arrangements with the family.”

She nodded knowingly and turned uncharacteristically quiet, if only for a moment.

Soon, she spotted the young girl standing awkwardly by the sofa. “Who’s this?” she asked, her voice returning with its usual boisterousness.

“This is Gracie...Grace”, I corrected. “Blake’s sister.”

“Well, look at you!” she exclaimed. “I should’ve known. You’re a cutie, just like him.”

I watched Gracie tense up as Debbie walked over to her. ‘Easy’, I wanted to shout from across the room. Debbie could be a lot to handle, even for the most gregarious of people. I remember when she first met Blake. She shook his hand so vigorously, I thought it might actually fall off. The expression on his face was memorable, to say the least. He looked totally overwhelmed by the bigness and boldness of her personality. He stood there, frozen in shock, as though he had never met anyone quite like her in all his life. But then, Debbie was truly one of kind.

She must have sensed Gracie’s nervousness as I did. “Don’t worry honey, I don’t bite” she said, as she came to a stop in front of her. 

“Her bark is much worse” I quipped, smiling at Gracie, who glanced back at me with a subtle, close-mouthed grin. 

I was shocked when the next voice I heard wasn’t Debbie’s bellowing roar, but her gentle voice, little more than whisper. At first, she managed only a single word, but soon, a few more followed. “I...I like your vest”, she said, biting down on her lip with what looked like embarrassment. 

My eyebrows rose just slightly as I watched her. I couldn’t believe it. Had she really just given Debbie a...compliment? 

“Why thank you!” Debbie exclaimed. “My very own creation” she said, nearly twirling in her famous hand-made garment. 

Gracie smiled widely, seemingly swept up in her enthusiasm.

“Say...” Debbie paused, looking at her intently. “How would like a button?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s okay” Gracie responded, shaking her head and instantly reverting to an apprehensive, almost guilty demeanour.

“You’d be doing me a favour”, Debbie told her. “This old thing’s getting too heavy for me anyway.”

Gracie stood there frozen, one tiny utterance escaping from her mouth. “I...”

“Don’t be shy” she insisted. “Take your pick.”

“Are you sure?” Gracie asked, just the way her brother would have.

I knew Debbie wasn’t going to give up. If she offered you anything - food, advice, or a button from her vest - you were going to take it, whether you wanted to or not.

“Go on...” she prodded.

After a moment of hesitation, Gracie reached forward so cautiously, it looked as if she was preparing to put her hand into a flame. I couldn’t see which button she was pointing to, but before long, Debbie was pinning a small round object to the young girl’s shirt.

“There you go!” she said, patting it in place, and moving a small strand of blonde hair that had been obstructing it from view.

“Thank you” Gracie said, marvelling at her new accessory. 

“Well” Debbie began. “I better get back to the diner or those boys are gonna starve.”

Before leaving, she made her way over to me and put her hand on my face in that oh-so-maternal way only Deibbie could. Her next words were whispered with a seriousness it was clear she wanted to keep hidden from Gracie. “You call me if you need anything, alright?” she said, looking right into my eyes, ensuring that I knew it was an order rather than a question. 

“Thanks, Deb” I told her, and I really was grateful. She was a mother to us all, even to Gracie, if only for brief moment.

She turned and bellowed some final, parting words to the young girl. “You’re welcome down at the diner anytime, honey! And bring that brother of yours too!”

Gracie smiled and nodded, and with that, the woman’s larger than life presence was gone, and we, the quiet ones, were alone again. 

I was quick to apologize for the unexpected and likely unnerving intrusion. “Sorry about that”, I said. “She can be a little...intense.”

“That’s okay” Gracie assured me, although the exhale that followed her words told me she felt at least a little bit relieved.

“Her heart’s in the right place though”, I told her.

She nodded and smiled. “I can tell” she said, looking down at the button on her chest. I could see now exactly which one she had chosen – it was a small, round, pin with a rainbow coloured heart pictured on the center of it.

“You don’t have to wear that, if you don’t want to” I told her, believing that she had probably accepted it out of politeness rather than out of an actual desire to wear the thing.

“No, no. I...I want to” she assured me, returning to her seat on the sofa while clutching the pin.. 

I sat down next to her and we were silent for a while, but our quietness was comfortable this time, and after a few minutes, Gracie soft voice crept into the quietness. “You were right”, she said. “Compliments work wonders.”


	17. Away From Him

Ted's POV:

The weekend was over and Blake was very quickly devoured by life outside our home. He went to work on Monday morning, pouring his energies into his new rehabilitation program, despite my many protestations. I only wished he had given it time. It had barely been forty-eight hours since the news of his father’s death. 

I relented though, eventually remembering that, in the year we had spent living together, he had never once missed a day of work. Being a counsellor wasn’t just his job, it was his duty. Some days I was sure he thought of it as penance for whatever blame or guilt or shame he still carried within him. If going to work helped him heal, so be it. Really though, I think he was just trading one ocean for another – choosing to face the living, breathing patients whom he still had time to reach, while blocking out any reminder of the one man who had slipped so suddenly from his grasp. 

As for me, I too returned to work, joining Brian once again in the buzzing and bustling offices at Kinnetik. The books had piled up over the weekend, but all the number crunching in the world wasn’t going to stop me from thinking, and worrying about him. 

I told Brian the news about Blake’s father passing, to which his reaction was characteristically unemotional and detached. I left out the details, but did mention the alcoholism that had taken the man’s life. It had dawned on me long before his death, just how similar the Wyzecki patriarch was to the late Jack Kinney – the aggression, the selfishness, and of course, their untimely ends. Even so, there were differences between the two – Brian’s father used him and very willingly took his money, while Blake’s father was far too prideful and hard-headed to do the same.

Still, I went so far as to foolishly ask, or rather, suggest that Brian talk to Blake. At this point, I was willing to try anything to get inside his head, and I thought maybe, just maybe, Brian could reach him in a way that I wasn’t able to. As could be expected though, I was met with this very blunt, very gruff response: “What? You think we’re gonna be pals just ‘cause we’ve both got dead deadbeat daddies. I got news for you, Theodore – we aren’t the only ones.” That was the first and last time I ever mentioned it. 

With both Blake and I having returned to work, and Gracie having yet to start high school, Jenny was forced step in. Thankfully, she had finished her nursing exams, and was able to keep Gracie company during the day, leaving to tend to her mother in the evenings when Blake and I returned home. It was a short-term and tiring solution, not for me, but for Jenny and Blake, who were still very clearly the only mother and father figure their family had to depend.

In addition to taking care of everyone and everything, they also shouldered the burden of dealing with the practical and financial matters relating to their father’s death. There was a viewing set for the coming Thursday, and a funeral service planned for the Saturday that followed, all put in motion by the family’s resident ma and pa.

At first, I was impressed by how well Blake shouldered it all – being there as a big brother to Gracie, as a counsellor to his patients, as a partner to me, and as the glue holding his fractured family together. Over time though, his magical act became more and more unnerving. 

He may have been able to force his father from his mind with starting ease, but the man’s death proved much harder to erase. At first, I’m sure the very concept of death seemed like a grandiose, almost incomprehensible thing. To be gone. Forever. As time passed though, I could tell it was becoming something much more real for him – smaller, yes, but more immediate, closing with ever-increasing speed. 

Over time, it was as if something within him began to disintegrate. He carried on smiling of course, just as he always did, and to outsiders I’m sure he seemed perfectly fine. But I knew every curve of his face, every subtle expression that trickled across it, and I knew very well what that smile could hide. 

When we were at home, I would catch him in these tiny moments when he thought no one was watching; when he would, just for a second, let that smile disappear. I would catch him too, in moments when he seemed lost somewhere in the valleys of his mind, gone and unreachable. 

It all started on Sunday evening, when he returned home from a day spent arranging his father’s funeral service. He walked in the door, different somehow, than he had been that morning, like a light within him had been dimmed. I struggled to see it at time, simply because he was so good at saving face around his little sister - making jokes, asking her questions, and delighting in her softly spoken responses – but looking back now, the difference in him was clear.

I remember busying myself folding laundry after the two of them went to the bathroom to change of Gracie’s bandages, as was their usual evening routine. They emerged a few minutes later, and sat on the sofa bed in the living room. I caught a glimpse of them each time I passed the open doorway to our bedroom, and if I was still enough, I could hear their voices. I wasn’t trying to pry, but my ears focused in when I heard Gracie ask her brother a simple, almost heart-breaking three-worded question: “are you okay?”

Perhaps she sensed the same change in him that I had, and I was eager to hear how he would choose to respond to her inquiry. “I told you”, he said. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.” I smiled as I listened to him speak, the tone in his voice so nurturing, so paternal, so calm. He continued his answer with this sweetly delivered declaration. “Besides...” he said. “I’m...great.”

I wanted to believe him, so badly that I went to bed that evening, forcing myself to accept his words as truth. 

But on Monday morning, before he returned to work, I found him standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a toothbrush in his hand, just staring at it, motionless, looking as though he was locked in thought. It was as if his mind had overtaken his body and rendered it powerless. Then again that evening, while he was washing dishes, he left the water running and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, gripping a dirty glass in one hand. 

It happened again and again – that same hollow, distracted pause in the ticking of time. Sometimes he would catch me staring from afar, and other times I would dare to interrupt his thoughts, only because I knew how cruel they could be. When he felt he had been caught, he would snap himself into composure with lightning speed and bring a smile to his face, though it never seemed to reach his eyes, or fill him with the brightness I had fallen in love with all those years ago.

I couldn’t help but feel he was drifting away from me.

By Tuesday evening, I decided I should to do something. Shortly before we went to bed, I found him standing by the armoire in our bedroom, the top drawer of which sat half opened, with a lone sock dangling from its corner. I stood by the doorway, taking a moment to watch him; he didn’t move, didn’t open the drawer fully, or rummage inside of it. He just stood there, like always, adrift in thought. 

I made my approach quietly, working my way over to his left side, careful not disturb whatever trance he was in. I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I got nearer to him, his familiar silhouette coming slowly into focus. “Looking for something?” I asked, careful to keep my voice light and airy.

He startled though, despite my quietness, and immediately turned to flash me that customary, empty smile. “No” he replied, looking slightly embarrassed by how much his body had tensed at the sudden intrusion of my voice. “I was just thinking.”

I moved in even closer and rested my chin lightly on his left shoulder. “About what?” I asked, longing to hear just what it was that seemed to be swirling around inside his mind.

“Nothing” he said, tilting his head away from me.

As the light moved with him, I spotted a tiny freckle at the base of his neck and brushed over it with my thumb, enjoying the softness of his skin as it met my with own. “I’m sure it’s not nothing” I murmured, kissing that tiny little spot as tenderly as I possibly could.

His head dropped forward as my lips touched him, and I got closer still, circling my arms around his middle and holding him next to me. I could feel his chest expand as he took in a heaping breath, and I let my eyes close, just for moment, savouring the warmth of the space where his back met my torso. 

“I can’t remember” he whispered, his words barely audible, even in the stillness of our bedroom. 

I knew in my heart of hearts, he was lying. He did remember, and what he remembered, I suspected, was far from the nothing he claimed it to be. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to prod at his wounds; it was too intimate and too rare a moment to ruin. 

Instead, I rested my chin on his shoulder once again, and willed some hopefulness to the top of my throat. “You know...” I said. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner tomorrow night. Jenny’s taking Gracie to the movies, so it’ll be just us.”

I carefully inspected his face for any sign of a reaction, and it wasn’t long before I noticed him gnawing on his bottom lip, tension constricting his mouth.

As I looked at him, I could feel a wave of nervous energy hit my stomach and I amended my invitation on the spot, tripping over my words as I so often did. “I mean...you know...or we could just stay here.”

My arms still encircling him, I felt his lungs contract, inward this time, a small wisp of air escaping from his nose in what sounded like the faintest bit of laughter.

He turned his head to the side, stopping when his cheek and forehead were nudged closely against mine. “Ted Schmidt...” he said softly. “...are you asking me out on a date?” 

My heart warmed at the hint of playfulness in his question. “I...guess I am” I told him, scrunching my eyes closed, revealing the true extent of my nervous energy. “That is, if you don’t mind spending your evening with an old fuddy-duddy like me.”

As the words left my mouth, I could feel the apple of his cheek press up against mine in what I knew had to be a smile; I only hoped it was genuine one this time, however small and brief it might have been. 

The seconds passed and I waited patiently for a response, thinking maybe he would refuse my offer, or worse, maybe he would refuse me. I listened intently as he let out a heavy sigh, both his shoulder and my chin rising and falling with his breath.

“I’d love to” he said, in this earnest, yet uncharacteristically small voice.

Still, I had to be sure he was sure. “Really?” I asked, feeling hopeful for him and for us.

“Really” he said, echoing that single word back to me as my heart began to flutter within my chest.


	18. The Kinney Connection

Blake's POV:

I sat in the bustling hallway at Kinnetik, trying with all my might to rub a large coffee stain out of my shirt before Ted finished work.  I had spent the better part of an hour selecting the perfect outfit for this evening, but deep down I knew I wasn’t just trying to impress him.  I was trying to fool him; to compensate for my unravelling insides with a shiny, pristine exterior; as shiny as it could be anyway, given the shades of black and blue still staining my left eyelid.

The problem was that I had become absentminded and terribly clumsy in the recent days.  My brain and my body felt like they were operating in entirely different universes, and I never could quite get the two to meet, which is the only explanation I have for the coffee cooling and settling into my shirt.

I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this date, but I would have said just about anything to make Ted happy.  In the car on the way over, I thought about how hopeful he had sounded when he made the invitation, how much it would mean to him to see me smile at that dinner table, and how relieved he would be if I could manage to be normal again, just for one night.

With these thoughts running through my head, I worked to summon all the excitement I could, but what little positivity I had managed to gather was evaporating, and quickly.  The stain wouldn’t budge and I could feel beads of sweat beginning to collect on my lower back and forehead.  This wasn’t like me.  I didn’t sweat, and certainly not over something as silly as a bit of discoloured fabric.   Pull yourself together, I thought.  Pull yourself together for _him._

Just then, amidst ringing of phones and the shuffling of papers, I heard a familiar, gruff sounding voice.

 “Oh, good.  It’s you.”

I knew who it belonged to without even having to lift my head.  The greeting, if it could be called that, was delivered with a smug sense self-importance that could only ever come from one man: Brian Kinney.  A few words were the most I ever got from him, but I never let it bother me, mainly because he had become a surprisingly good friend to Ted, and I learned long ago, that to him, friends weren’t just friends - they were family.   So I made it my mission, even back then, to treat anyone Ted called a friend with the very same kindness he always showed me.

 “Hi” I said back, offering up a quick smile and more conventional greeting as I continued to will the impossible stain from my shirt.  “Is there a bathroom up here I can use?” I asked.  “I’m supposed to be going to dinner with Ted and...”

“I know” he said, cutting me off with a pointed voice and laugh.  “He hasn’t shut up about it all day.”

I felt a pang of hurt in my stomach.  His sour attitude didn’t faze me, but the words it veiled did.  At its core, his trite remark revealed the true extent of Ted’s excitement, and I couldn’t help but feel the pressure mounting inside of me. 

I was sure that would be the end of Brian’s socialising.  He was notoriously tight-lipped with everyone but a select few and it seemed he had ignored my question about the bathroom, which didn’t surprise me much.  What did surprise me though - was what happened next.

“C’mon” he said, opening the door to his office and seemingly ushering me in with a tilt of his head. 

I sat there, puzzled for moment until he shot me this look, widening his eyes as if to say, _what in the hell are you waiting for?_

I got up, still a little confused, and I followed him.  I had never ventured beyond the cherry wood door that sealed his domain, and what lie behind it was truly spectacular.  His office was nearly the size of Ted’s entire apartment, outfitted with what looked like the finest flooring and the finest furniture his towering mountains of money could buy.  Lavishly framed artwork adorned every wall, and sunlight poured through a massive floor to ceiling window opposite the door.

He led me over to his large L-shaped desk as I gazed around, more than a little awestruck.

“Here” he said, directing my scattered attention to what looked like a white, button down shirt dangling from his right hand.

I stared at it, unsure of where exactly it had come from, given that he was still wearing his own.  “Are you sure?”  I asked, taken aback by his offer.

“I’ve got a whole drawer full” he told me, glancing down at an open slot in his desk, prompting me to do the same. 

Sure enough, there before me was a stack of crisp white shirts, folded neatly, one on top of the other. 

“Thanks” I said, grateful and relieved as I took the shirt from his hand. 

I couldn’t help but look around again, my eyes darting to-and-fro about the room in wonder at its grandeur.  “This is your office?  It’s...” I paused, searching for a word that would aptly describe it.  “...huge.”

“One of the many perks of being your own boss”, he shrugged with a sly bit of arrogance.

Some perk, I thought. 

I glanced down at my watch and realised I would have to change quickly if I had any hope at all of looking presentable for Ted.  “Do you mind if I...?” I asked, trailing off as I thumbed the top button of my coffee-stained shirt.

He returned my question with one of his own.  “You think you’re the first guy to strip in my office?”

I knew I wasn’t, of course, and I suddenly felt silly for having asked what I did.  I breathed a sigh of relief when Cynthia’s voice came over the speaker affixed to his desk, sparing me from actually having to answer his question. 

“Brian, your sister’s on line one.”

His only response was to spit out a single word  “Fuck.”

“I can leave if you want to take that” I offered, stepping toward the door as I felt the tension in the room begin to rise.

He shook his head from side to side.  “I don’t want” he huffed, sounding like toddler refusing to eat his vegetables; a toddler who happened to have his name printed on a door to his very own palace in the sky.

“Tell her I’m busy” he grumbled, holding down the intercom button so Cynthia could hear.  Then he paused, thinking for a second before he pushed the button down again.  “Tell her I’m not here.”  He paused again.  “Tell her I died” he said, without the faintest hint of sarcasm.

“Will do”, Cynthia responded in a chipper tone that led me to believe this sort of thing was a regular occurrence.

I did my best to ignore their exchange, and focused instead on the one word that had managed to grab my attention in the midst of their griping. 

 _Sister._    

“I forgot you had a sister” I told him, hoping it would lighten the mood as I finally began to unbutton my shirt.

“So did I” he uttered, again without a trace of sarcasm.

“Ted told me her name once” I said, scrunching my eyes closed as I tried to remember it.  “I think it starts with a C?”

“Cunt.”

I flinched and my brow furrowed at his vulgar, cold-hearted remark.  “I...don’t think that was it.” 

He paid little attention to the bewildered expression on my face and lifted a glass of scotch from his desk, the ice cubes clinking as he took a sip.  “What about you?” he asked.  “Sisters?”

“Five”, I told him.  “Their names don’t start with C though”, I was quick to add.

“You’re shitting me!” he exclaimed with an obnoxious laugh.

“No”, I assured him plainly.  “Five.  No shitting.”

He took another sip from his glass and looked at me curiously.  “Gee, you’re tougher than I thought, Wyzecki.”

I shrugged off his comment and shook my head at the thought.  “Not really”, I told him.  Since when did having sisters account for toughness, I wondered.  Besides, I hadn’t exactly been the most present or reliable of big brothers.  If anyone had to be tough, it was them. 

“I left home as soon as I could” I admitted, eager to dispel the notion that I was anything less than a coward.

 “Me too.  Fuck family”, he declared.  “I say drop the one you’re given and find your own.”

I knew he couldn’t possibly be that heartless.  “Did you?”  I asked, hoping to pierce a hole in his steely facade.

He skilfully avoided the question though, spouting more cleverness to cloak any real emotion.  “I found money, and power, and Italian furniture – all of which make me happier than family ever did.”

It was clear he wasn’t about to let me anywhere near the caged, blood-pumping organ in his chest, so I focused my energies on changing instead.  I could hear him take another slurp of scotch as I pulled the crisp, clean white fabric over my shoulders.  It wasn’t until I fastened every button that I realised I had just about disappeared inside of it.

“I’ve never felt so short in my life” I sighed, now swimming in his shirt, the sleeves of which dangled from the ends of my hands, making me look more boy than man.

I heard Brian snicker from a few feet behind me.  “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to roll up your sleeves?” he asked.  His tone was patronizing and it succeeded in making me feel even more like a child.

He sighed loudly and I could hear the sound of his glass come to rest on the wood atop his desk.  He made his way over until he was standing squarely in front of me, towering over my meagre frame, an amused, sideways grin on his face. 

It was clear he had little care for the concept of personal space.  He stood so close to me that I could smell the lingering stench of liquor on his breath.  I stopped myself from grimacing outwardly as it performed an all out assault on my nostrils. 

Meanwhile, he began rolling the sleeves of his shirt up over my hands, one side and then the other, until I emerged from within it.  I would have done it myself, but I was too distracted by the familiar scent wafting through my nose, and too unnerved by the way he began starring intently at my face. 

“That’s quite the shiner” he pointed out, finally taking a step back.

My hand jetted up toward my eye with lightening speed.  “Oh” I stammered, suddenly realising what it was he had been staring at.  “I keep forgetting about it” I told him, avoiding his gaze as he continued to stare at the colours marking my pale skin. 

I expected his next words to form a question of the usual “who?” and “how?” varieties.  Everyone I encountered was curious, or horrified, or some mixture of the two, depending on how well I knew them.  But it seemed that he was neither of those things.  His only response was a teasing bit of commentary.

“You and Theodore must be playing rough” he said, an eyebrow mischievously raised.

I knew he was playing around, but I jumped to Ted’s defence almost unconsciously.  It felt like such an inaccurate characterization of him.   “Oh no, Ted would never...” I said, thinking of the man who graced me so often with his gentleness and warmth.

Brian laughed, clearly amused by the effects of his teasing.  “Believe me I know”, he said.  “Yesterday he spent half an hour chasing a fly around the office.  I thought he wanted to kill it like the rest of us.  Turns out he wanted to capture it and release it back into the wild.”

I couldn’t help but smile just slightly, despite the fact that he told me the story with an air of condescension in his voice.  It sounded so perfectly like the man I adored.  

“And did he?” I asked, wondering whether he had been successful in his life-saving quest, and secretly hoping he had been.

“I crushed it before he had the chance” Brian told me, his words and his actions showing none of Ted’s compassion.

I could feel the smile fall from my lips.  He must have noticed my sunken expression because, after a minute of silence, he let the tinniest shred of humanity slip free.  “So...how...are...you?” he asked, forcing each word out as though Debbie had just given the back of his head a good slap.

I took a breath and defaulted to my usual, automatic response.  “I’m fine” I said, some half-hearted look of contentment on my face.  The tiny, two-word phrase had left my mouth many, many times over the past few days, and it was only ever met with blind acceptance, from my friends, my colleagues, my family, even from Ted, who was either too afraid or too kind to question it as of late.

Brian, on the other hand, wasted little time in calling my bluff.  

“Well, that’s bullshit” he said, his words cutting like a knife.

It felt like my armour had been punctured and I reacted with a jab of my own, though mine was spoken much less sharply.  “I didn’t realize you knew me so well.” 

 “I don’t.  I know bullshit”, he said matter-of-factly.

It was true.  He did. 

My shoulders rounded and I defaulted to yet another mechanical response.  “It’s okay”, I told him.  “You don’t have to pretend to be concerned.  To tell you the truth, it would be sort of a relief if you weren’t.”

“Let me guess” he cooed, heading to the back of room to grab the glass of liquor off his desk.   “Theodore’s been smothering you with all sorts of starry-eyed love and affection.”  He was teasing me again, trying to be melodramatic and over the top, but I had to admit, he knew Ted well. 

Ted wasn’t the problem though, at least not the only problem.  “It’s not just him”, I said.  “And don’t get me wrong I...”

He cut me off, his voice muffled by the glass as he returned to sipping his scotch.  “You love him to pieces” he said, clearly mocking the very idea of love or romance.  “You just wish he’d back the fuck off”, he added sharply.

I shook my head at his cursing.  “No, no”, I told him.  I hated the idea of telling anyone, let alone Ted to ‘fuck off’. 

He just looked at me, his eyebrow arched, and I knew he sensed me bullshitting again.

“Well, not exactly” I admitted, caving for some reason underneath his stare.  “It’s just that everyone wants to know how I’m feeling; if I’m okay.”

“So tell ‘em all to fuck off!”, he commanded.

I shook my head.  “They’re just trying to be nice”, I assured him. 

“Nice?” he said, repeating the word harshly, as if he was deeply offended by each of its four letters.  “Life’s too short for nice.  Either tell it like it is, or don’t waste your breath”, he snorted.  “You feel like shit?  Tell the world you feel like shit.  The world’s just going to have to deal with it.”

The world shouldn’t have to deal with it, I thought.  My problems were mine alone, no one else’s.   

Besides, he was hardly an expert on the subject of feelings.  “That’s a bit ironic coming from you, isn’t it?” I bit back, suddenly sensing the street smart survivor in me come to life; the kid who dealt with smug, arrogant men like him day and night for years.  He wasn’t as unique or as God-like as everyone made him out to be.  He was scared and insecure just like the rest of us, even though he would never admit it.   “Since when do you tell the world how you feel?” I asked, hoping to make a heavy dent in his armour this time.

It proved to be a tougher challenge than I had imagined though, because all he did was shrug his shoulders and send out another biting remark.  “I don’t _tell_ the world, I _show_ the world.  If people are too blind to see it, that’s their problem.” 

As blunt and defensive as he was, he had a point.  Experience had taught me a valuable lesson about just how empty and hollow words could me.  Countless men, men just like him, had used words to woo me into doing all sorts of things I shouldn’t have; compliments mostly, and promises of a better life, of happiness, of stability and security.  They all dissolved, of course, the moment I descended into addiction, or let the faintest bit of imperfection show. 

It happened a lot when I was younger.  Usually it began with them looking me over, eyes up and down, a sly grin appearing on their faces, like they were imagining all the fantasies I might be able to fulfill.   They weren’t the same sort of stares I always saw Brian getting though.  People looked at him like a deity -with respect, envy, fear, awe, admiration - all things that ensured he remained fixed in a position of great power.

When people looked at me, it was like they were looking at a new toy, dreaming up all the ways they could play with it and satisfy some cloying need within themselves.  Unlike deities, toys didn’t have feelings or thoughts or wants or needs of their own, and they certainly weren’t respected or powerful.

If they decided I was the sort of toy they might like to play with, well then, they took me home, but it never lasted long; a few days at most until they realised I was as much human and flawed as they were.  This meant that I wasn’t fun anymore, the way all good toys should be.  So I was tossed out with the trash, like every other material possession they no longer had any use for.  And with my expulsion from their lives, every promising or complimentary word they ever uttered to me was stripped of any meaning at all.       

Thus far in my life, Ted was the only man, the only man who looked at me and saw the human, who made promises and fulfilled them, and who used words, not as a means of getting what he wanted, but as a means of showing precisely how much he really did care. 

I only wish people knew that about him and about me; if they had they might never have questioned the sincerity of my feelings for him.  If anyone had looked or listened closely enough, they would have realised it was no wonder I loved Ted as much as I did.  But people don’t listen to addicts much, on account of us not being human and all, at least in their eyes.

Out of nowhere, Brian waved his hand an inch in front of my face, and I knew I had drifted away again. 

“Helloooo?” he drawled.

I fumbled a bit and then grabbed at the back of neck.  “It’s not the world I’m worried about”, I admitted.  My worries were much more specific.

“Theodore?” he asked, seeming satisfied that I had returned to reality.  “He’ll deal with it too”, he told me. 

But Ted of all people deserved to be free of my burdens.  He had already spent far too much time living under the weight of them, and I knew he had more than a few of his own to carry. 

 “I’ve bogged him down with so much lately” I explained.  “And he’s been so amazing with everything.”  It was the understatement of the century

“He’ll deal with it”, Brian repeated with a sternness I hadn’t heard before.  “Besides, he loves misery more than anyone I know, so pile it on.  You’d be doing him a favour.”

If only he knew just how much of my misery the man had shouldered over the years.  “Oh believe me”, I assured him.  “He’s taken on more than enough of my misery.  Sometimes I wonder why he sticks around.”

“He _is_ loyal, I’ll give him that”, Brian conceded.

I had no intension of being this candid with him, but the truth was, it was sort of a relief to be in his company.  Some part of me craved his steely, detached form of communication.  The lack of sentimentality .  The harshness.  I didn’t have to worry about hurting him, or burdening him with my problems.  It was like throwing darts at a brick wall – nothing sunk in, nothing got past the rough, impenetrable surface. 

Ted, on the other hand, was like a sponge for human emotion.  He took on the feelings of everyone around him, including, and especially mine.  If I was happy, he was happy.  So happy was what I had to be, at least when he was around.  But now that he wasn’t, now that I was in the presence of the steely detachment I craved, I finally felt like I could breathe.

“He was a drinker?” Brian asked suddenly, snapping me from my thoughts before I drifted off again.

“Hmm...?” I mumbled, unsure of what exactly he was asking.

“Your old man”, he said plainly.

“Oh, yeah” I told him, exhaling every last bit of air from my lungs.  I didn’t know how he knew.  I just assumed Ted must have mentioned it when he told him the news. 

Then, in a strangely candid move of his own, Brian revealed something about himself, albeit indirectly.  “Thought those shades of black and blue looked familiar”, he said.   “Isn’t it great how they always leave you something to remember them by?”

 My head jerked back at the sudden revelation.  “You too?”, I asked.

“I gave as good as I got” he quipped, his mouth disappearing inside that scotch glass again.  It was neither a yes nor a no, but it answered my question just the same.

I watched as he coddled the glass in his hand in the same way my father always had, like he was afraid to ever part with it.   I wondered how he could carry on ingesting the liquid in it so freely, given how it was at least partly to blame for any wounds that had been inflicted upon him.

“But you still drink?” I asked, careful with my tone of voice.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he retorted, seeming mystified by my question.

“I don’t know.  I can’t even stand the smell of the stuff”, I told him.  I really couldn’t.  One whiff of it was enough to trigger a whole host of memories I would much rather forget.

Still, he continued to drink, offering this proud, vengeful thought.  “I figure - fuck him.  He can’t drink, so I will.  And I’ll enjoy it too, just to piss him off.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I knew he wanted to shock me, but I understood the anger mixed up in his words more than I let on.  I didn’t want to admit that I felt any inkling of it, but I did.  Sometimes I just wanted to scream it.  _Fuck him!_ Yet I could never go around spouting it the way he did.  It seemed so vial and wrong to harbour so much hate toward someone who wasn’t even capable of defending themselves.

I watched as Brian went and stood over by the floor to ceiling window in his office.  He leaned on it sideways, still looking at me when he asked: “I take it you don’t like to drown your sorrows?”

I shook my head.  I may have had sorrows, and I may have buried them, but never in that amber coloured liquid I loathed so much.

“Since when?” he asked, looking baffled and letting out a laugh.

“Since forever”, I told him.  The first time I saw that glassy-eyed, drunken rage in my father, I knew I could never go near it.  I spent my life running from it and him, terrified that I would become him completely if I ever let a drop of the stuff touch my tongue. 

“Well, that explains the crystal” Brian said, pacing around now, pleased, like he was sure he had me figured out.

“How does that explain the crystal?” I asked, curious to hear what sort of grand theory he would regale me with this time.

“Everyone needs an escape” he shrugged, taking another sip.  “...or several.”

“Funny, that’s how they sold it to me” I told him, remembering all at once the exact words that were used to reel me in.  “They said, ‘If you’re not gonna drink, then you’ve gotta take _something_.  It’s the only way you’ll ever survive this place.’  Then it nearly killed me.”

My memory was just another dart hitting his brick wall.  “Maybe I should use that in my next campaign?” he said with wide-eyed smirk.

“Just don’t forget to mention the deadly side effects”, I was quick to remind him.  “Might scare off some of your customers though.”

“It never does”, he said.  “If it did, you’d be out of a job and you’d still have your dear old dad to deal with.”

I closed my eyes as his words hit me like a dagger, fresh emotion clawing its way to the top of my throat.  Some part of me savoured it though.  It felt like a wound I deserved, and one that Ted would never dream of inflicting.

“I should have...dealt with him...better, I mean.”   I was babbling and revealing too much, but my words just thudded against that brick wall again.  

“You wanna live in the past?  Go ahead”, he said.  “It’s a dangerous place to be.”

I knew it was dangerous to live in the past, but that didn’t excuse me from failing to do what I ought to have done.  “I really should have though”, I insisted.  “It’s my job.  _Literally_.  It’s my job.”

“Your _job_ , at least as I understand it, is to help people who want to be helped”, he reminded me.  “If they don’t, well then there’s not much you can do.”

He was right, but for one glaring exception.  “I think it’s a little different when it’s your dad”, I told him.

He grimaced at my comment, his face contorting for a second before it relaxed again.  “People always think family means something” he said, his voice full of contempt.  “Kin.  Ties.  Blood.  But blood doesn’t mean fuck all.  Especially the blood that makes you bleed.”

 _The blood that makes you bleed -_ that about summed up my father perfectly, and yet, I couldn’t dismiss family as easily as he could, no matter how much I may have wanted to.  Deep down, of course, I knew his indifference was as much of a farce as my being ‘fine’, but I suppose we each had our defences, our trusted ways of coping; he feigned heartlessness, while I feigned happiness.  Either way, we were both lying.

For some reason I started thinking out loud about what he had said before.  “It’s sad how even that isn’t enough to scare people – death, I mean.  It didn’t even scare me back then.”

“That’s because death isn’t scary”, he said.  “Death is just the end.  Dying’s the tough bit.  You still have to be alive to be dying.”

I was beginning to notice that he preferred to speak in grand, philosophical ideas, rather than in specifics.  Sure, it allowed him to be clever, but it also meant he could avoid dealing with his feelings, or with anyone else’s for that matter.  If a philosophical debate was what he wanted, I was more than happy to oblige.

Two could play at that game, I thought, as I posed him my next question.  “Isn’t that the one, truly universal addiction though?  Living?  Being alive?”

“Nah” he said, shrugging away my argument.  “Life’s a prison we live to escape.”

He had hit me with half a dozen or so of these sparkling one-liners since I walked in the room, and I had to admit they were impressive – direct, smart, memorable –even if they were delivered with a heaping splash of arrogance.   

“Wow” I said, pausing to look at him.  “You really are an ad man, aren’t you?” 

He held out his arms at his sides, like he thought we should both take a moment to bask in his glory.

I ignored him though, and continued with my thought.  “Yeah, but drugs, alcohol, whatever – they’re prisons too, not escapes.  It’s just an endless cycle of highs and lows.”

“So?” he blurted out.  “Maybe people just like to have some say in how they serve their sentence.”  He had his eyebrow raised, like he knew he was being clever again. 

I began to wonder whether his father was lucky enough to have any say in his sentence at all.  “How did your dad...was it the...?” I asked, carefully approaching the specifics I knew he wanted to avoid.

“The big C”, he told me.   “Cancer, not cunt.”

 “Oh...” I paused.  “...I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.  He wasn’t” he said, squashing my words at the first sign of sentimentality. 

I remembered Ted going to the man’s funeral years ago.  He left me alone in his apartment for a few hours while he fulfilled his duty to his friend.   I never knew the circumstances surrounding his death until now.  I was probably too afraid to ask back then, too close to my own end to want to hear about his.   

It was strange to be hearing it from Brian’s mouth all these years later.  They may have died in different ways, our fathers, but it was clear now that we both knew the sting of their fists, and the sting of their leaving our lives forever – just a couple of fatherless sons.

If he understood those stings, then there was a good chance he understood the claustrophobic aftermath I was experiencing now.  “They must have smothered you too”, I said.

I felt the mood in the room lighten when he laughed a bit.  His mouth broke into a genuine smile that seemed to vanish as soon as it appeared.  “They tried” he said, confirming my suspicions.   

I felt a smile creep up behind my lips.  “But you told ‘em all to fuck off?” I asked, echoing his brash words as I held back my grin.

“You bet” he assured me, gulping down what was left of his drink.

I was silent for a minute as I thought about how odd and unexpected our conversation had been.  We had known each other on and off for years, but had never once made any real connection.  Maybe on some level we always knew we shared something in common, but it was something neither of us had any want or reason to speak of until now.

I looked at him, and voiced a realisation that was churning through my mind.  “You know, this is the longest you’ve ever talked to me?” I told him.

He wasted no time in letting me know why that was.  “That’s because you’ve finally stopped smiling”, he said.

 My eyes narrowed with confusion.  “What?” I asked.

“You smile too much.  Positivity gives me the creeps”, he told me.  It was almost comical the way he said it with so much disgust.  

By this point, his griping no longer had any effect.  “Ah. So, we can only talk when I’m grief-stricken?” I asked brightly, unfazed by his insult.

“Pretty much”, he said with a dismissive tilt of his head.

“Wait...” I thought.  “...Justin smiles.”  If he hated people smiling as much as he said he did, he sure had strange taste in partners.

“He smiles _selectively”,_ he was quick to point out.  “You smile at everyone.  You’re like a golden retriever.  I like Rottweilers.”

“Justin’s a Rottweiler?” I asked, questioning what seemed like an outlandish comparison.

I watched as the corner of his mouth turned upward into a devious grin.  “You’d be surprised.”  “Fortunately...”, he continued.  “Theodore _loves_ golden retrievers.”

“Actually, he’s more of a cat person”, I told him, smirking.

“Figures”, he snorted with a laugh.  “Speaking of your feline loving fella – don’t you have a dinner to go to?”

I glanced down at my watch.  He was right.  It was almost time to return to reality.

I started fussing over my appearance again, looking down at my outfit, and inspecting the rolled up sleeves on my arms.  Brian returned to his spot at the window, and after a minute of my fussing, he whistled this high-pitched, startling sound and my head shot up. 

He directed my attention with a point of his finger toward the door.  I thought it was his way of asking me to leave until I spotted a full-length mirror mounted to the back of the thick slab of cherry wood blocking my exit.  

I walked over to pick at my reflection.  I looked decent, I guess.  It was definite improvement over the brown splotchy mess I was covered in before.  

It wasn’t long before Brian’s mirrored image came into view next to mine.  He stared at our reflections and then slung his right arm around my shoulder, the weight of it nearly knocking me off my feet.  “Well, what do ya know?”, he said.  “The little twink cleans up alright.”

I smirked, despite his use of that ‘twink’ word I hated so much.  I had grown out of that phase years ago.  “I’m not that much younger than you”, I reminded him. 

He looked at me, then back at the mirror, and revised his little remark.  “Well, what do ya know?” he said again.  “The little _shrink_ cleans up alright.”

I laughed at the revision, the rhyme, and the satisfied look on his face. I didn’t know whether he intended to give my confidence a boost, or whether he was just looking for another excuse to tease me.  Either way, I appreciated it.

Before I could thank him, he flung the door open and dragged me into the hallway alongside him, his arm still weighing me down like an anchor.

 Right on cue, Ted stepped out of the boardroom adjacent to Brian’s office.

“Theodore!” Brian bellowed, as if he hoped to embarrass him.  “Just where are you planning on taking this boyfriend of yours again?”

Ted’s eyes bounced between Brian and me before he answered.  He looked both confused and amused by the arm around my shoulder.  “To that new place”, he told Brian.  “The one that just opened up on the corner of Finch and Liberty...um...”

“Roberto’s” I interjected, finishing his sentence when Brian finally freed me from the weight of his lumbering limb.

I made my way over to Ted’s left side, and his arm moves across my lower back, pulling me in close.  I felt like I had just stepped out the arctic and into the arms of the sun; and me, I was the steam born where hot meets cold.

He smiled at me, looking grateful for my having filled the blank spot in his memory.  I smiled back, coyly, but Brian was quick to interrupt the warmth of our reunion with a gust of icy wind.

“Quit this starry-eyed lover’s thing”, he blurted out.  “You two want to fuck tonight, right?”

Ted and I looked at each other, neither of us knowing what to say.  Our jaws were left hanging open as we looked back at him in unison.

“I’ll take that as a yes” he said, putting an end to our awkward silence.  “Then can I suggest you go someplace else.  Unless of course, you want to spend the rest of your evening hunched over a toilet.  Then again, maybe that’s how you two like it.”

We had just about had our fill of crass remarks when he made us a generous offer.  “Take my reservation at The Mill”, he said.  “I was going to wine and dine the Remsin boys tonight, but fuck ‘em.  They can wait.”

I was about to protest the offer, when Ted jumped in.  “Brian, that’s a three million dollar account”, he was quick to point out.

“You and your numbers.  I _said_ they can wait”, Brian insisted.  “Besides, I’ve got other plans.  Now take your boyfriend, Theodore.  Go.  Eat.  Fuck.”

Ted gave him a simple, “Thanks, Bri” as we turned and made our way to the elevator.

I turned my head back and called out shortly after. “And thank you for the-“

I never finished my sentence.  I didn’t know what I was thanking him for – the shirt, the conversation, the coldness that I craved, or the tiny shreds of honesty I somehow managed to pull from him.

He gave me this quick nod, no sentimentality, no ‘your welcomes’, just a quick motion of his head to let me know my message had been received.  I walked away feeling like I might have actually reached a man most said was unreachable; and he, whether I liked it or not, had reached me in some small way.  


	19. Date Night

The Mill, it turned out, was just about as lavish and extravagant as Brian’s office.  It was nearly filled to capacity with hungry customers, along with an array of uniformly dressed staff, sophisticated music, and dim lighting.  It was a stuffy, ritzy sort of atmosphere I rarely encountered, and the few times I had, it put me a bit off balance.  

Tonight was no different.  I felt embarrassingly out of place as I walked into the restaurant adorned in Brian’s hand-me-down shirt with a fading, but still visible bruise marking the skin around my left eye.  But I had Ted by my side, as loving and supportive and worried as ever.  I had no reason to be tense, I told myself.  I was being treated to a night out and I should enjoy it, for his sake. 

The evening started off well enough.  We were seated at a table near the back the restaurant – Mr. Kinney’s usual spot, we were told. 

Shortly after, a fair skinned, redheaded waitress handed each of us a dinner menu, bound in black leather with gold trim around the edges.  Then came the usual offer of drinks.  The waitress was quick to present us with a selection from the wine menu - a smaller, but equally fancy leather bound booklet, adorned in that same gold trim.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” she began.  “We have a wonderful selection of reds-“

To my surprise, Ted interrupted her, glancing at me briefly as though he thought the mere mention of alcohol might cause me to crumble right there on the spot.

“I-I think I’ll just stick with water, thanks.  What about you?” he asked me, looking over with a nervous smile.

“Me too” I said, nodding in agreement while giving Ted a reassuring look.

As the waitress walked away, we each opened our menus.  I don’t know what I expected exactly, but the tiny, curly font was almost impossible to read, and each dish was described in such detail that reading through a list of them felt like an academic exercise.   I peaked over the top of my menu, watching Ted as he scanned his, looking for any sign of shock or wide-eyed horror at the extravagant dishes and even more extravagant prices.  The cost of a single entrée would just about cover a week’s worth of groceries. 

Ted seemed oddly unfazed by it all, but I wasn’t.  This sort of indulgence felt wrong somehow.  I had never been privileged enough to be able to indulge in anything quite like this as a child.  Money and food were often scarce, and a meal out like this for a family of nine would have been an inconceivable luxury. 

Now, even as an adult, I felt uneasy, almost sick at the thought of having to order such an expensive meal.

“Are you sure you want to eat here?” I asked Ted, secretly hoping I could subtly convince him to save his money and go elsewhere. 

“Hm?” he mumbled as he glanced up from his menu, clearly caught off guard by my question.

“It’s just really expensive, that’s all”, I told him.  “We can go somewhere more affordable.  Really.  I don’t mind.”   I did my best not to sound ungrateful or unhappy or displeased in any way.  I knew that deep down Ted was still as worried about me as ever and he had high hopes for this evening.

“No, no” he said, looking up at me with an unusually bright smile.   “You let me worry about the dollars and cents.  It’s my job after all.  Order whatever you want.  My treat!”

His voice was so full of joy when he said it – _my treat_.  He was so eager to make me happy that I couldn’t put up fight any longer.  As uncomfortable as it made me, I would have to order, and indulge in a meal most members of my family could only ever dream of eating.

When the waitress returned to our table, I proceeded to select the second least expensive item on the menu – _second least_ so Ted wouldn’t suspect that I was trying to save money. 

With the menus gone from our hands and our orders taken, we were left on our own. 

“So, how was your day?” Ted asked me brightly.

I didn’t tell him the whole truth.  I never mentioned that I spilled my coffee, or that the shirt covering my torso didn’t actually belong to me, or that, for the entire day, as I sat through meetings and group sessions, I thought about this evening and prepared myself as best I could to be normal.  Instead, I told him only simple things, things guaranteed not to stir up more worry or concern inside of him.

“The new program should be up and running soon”, I told him.  “And a couple of patients finished their treatment.  It was a good day.”  As I spoke, I felt as though I was talking about the weather; something completely impersonal and detached from myself.

Thankfully, before I could descend into a monologue about sunshine and blue skies, the redheaded waitress returned, leading a party of four to the empty table next us.  Ted and I each paused briefly to look at them, and exchanged polite smiles from across the table. 

“How was yours?” I asked, taking the opportunity to deflect the question back to him.

“Great, great”, he said.  He went on to talk for quite a while about his day, and I’m ashamed to admit it was the first time in my life that I hadn’t really listened to him.  I wanted to.  I heard mentions of budgets, and accounts, and clients, and Brian, and Cynthia, but none of the words in-between stuck. 

I continued nodding along, but I couldn’t help focusing on the four new additions at the table next to us.  They looked to be a family - a mother, a father, and what I could only assume were their two teenage sons. 

After a short while, our meals arrived to the table.  The redheaded waitress placed two white, square, pristine plates of food in front of us.  Each of them looked like something out of magazine, like something that should be photographed rather than eaten.

I listened in as the waitress spoke to the family next to us.   “Welcome”, she said.  “Have you all ever been to The Mill before?”

“No”, the father replied.  “This is our first time, but we’ve heard great things about this place.”

 “Oh, really?” the waitress replied with a chipper, high-pitched voice.  “Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

With that, I turned my to the lavish meal in front of me, and to the beautiful man who seemed to be waiting for me to drum up some conversation. 

I didn’t want to bring it up.  I knew the purpose of this evening was to distract me from everything, to help me forget about what tomorrow would bring.  But I also knew that I would have to speak if I had any hope of convincing him that I was okay, and there was only one thing weighing on my mind.

“I wanted to ask you…” I began.  “Would you mind staying home with Gracie tomorrow night while I’m at the viewing?”

“Oh…”, he said, his mouth hanging open for a few seconds before he finished his answer.  “…sure.  I mean, you know…if you…if she…if that’s what you want.” 

 “She said she’d rather not go”, I told him.  “And I don’t want to force her.”

It happened that morning.  I was changing the bandage on Gracie’s back as usual, securing the last of its four corners with a tiny piece of medical tape, when out of the blue, she asked me: “Do I have to go the viewing?”  Her back was still to me, but I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was ashamed and frightened to ask.

I turned her around to face me, sighed, smiled, and said.  “You don’t want to go, huh?”

“I-I-I mean, I’ll go the funeral.  I promise”, she started to stammer.  “But the viewing…I don’t want to see him… _like_ _that_ ”

 _Like that._ Such a simple phrase to replace the words neither of us could seem to say.

All I knew was that my little sister was trying her best to tell me that she didn’t want to have to see her father lying in a casket. 

If I were braver I would have told her that I felt the same way.

 If I were braver, I would have told Ted the truth when, from across the dinner table, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

Because the truth was I did.  My heart would love for him to be there, but my mind knew better.  A quiet evening at home with Gracie would be far easier for him to handle than being stuck in a room full of my grief-stricken, dysfunctional family.  I had developed a thick skin to word them off, but Ted wore his heart on his sleeve, and I knew it would be trampled if he came with me.  I loved him too much to put him through that.

What I should have said to him was this: “Yes.  Please come with me.  I don’t want to do this alone.  I’m afraid of what might happen”

To be honest, I’m not sure what I was more afraid of – my family or myself.  I knew I would have to face them all - my father’s parents, his colleagues, his older brother, and any number of extended family members who had come to pay their respects.  And of course, I would have to face my father, lying in an open casket for all to see.  The thought alone made me feel queasy. 

Even more terrifying though, was who I would become in their presence.  Somehow I was sure I would I cease to be the me I am now, and transform into the me I used to be.  And I wasn’t sure I could handle being him again.  I could already feel it starting to happen.  For the past few days, I felt as though I was beginning to lose myself.  Each morning when I woke up, there seemed to be less of me than there had been the night before. 

I felt like shell as I sat at the table across from Ted and lied to him once again, answering his question with a simple, “That’s okay.”

“Because I’d be happy to-“, he jumped in, before stopping abruptly and shaking his head.  “Happy isn’t the right word.  What-what I mean is, I-“

 I reached across the table and put my hand on top of his.  “I know what you mean”, I said with a smile.  “But I’d rather you stayed with Gracie.”

Despite my lies, it was the high point of the evening.  I managed a smile, I touched him, and for a moment at least, all worry seemed to disappear from his eyes.

The real trouble started when the waitress returned to the table next to us, ready to take the dinner orders for that family of four.

I overheard the father declare that they were “going to indulge tonight.”   When I looked over, he smiled brightly as he told the waitress, “My boy here just graduated from high school and he’s off to North Eastern in a few days.  He got himself a scholarship too.”

“Oh well, congratulations!” the waitress replied warmly.  “You must be very proud.”

“I sure am” the father said with great enthusiasm, embarrassing his teenage son, and casting a shadow on the evening that I was never fully able to shake.

On any other day, it would have been a beautiful sight - a warm, happy family celebrating a joyous occasion with a special night out.  But on this day, it made my heart ache in a way that few things ever had.  I watched this father beam at his son with this incredible look of pride, and I would be lying if I said I never longed to see that look in my own father’s eyes.  As a boy, I would bring home spelling tests, pieces of artwork, stories I had written in school; then I would bound up to him, smiling, secretly hoping he would look at me that way, even if it was just for a second. 

I hadn’t realized I was staring until I heard Ted clear his throat from across the table.  I snapped back into my body and I could feel what I prayed were not tears stinging the backs of my eyes.  I swallowed hard and willed them not to fall, but they lingered there, coyly, threatening to tumble down my cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Ted asked, leaning forward in his seat. 

 “Yeah” I said, grabbing the napkin from my lap, and seizing the opportunity to cover my face with the white linen fabric.  “It’s just spicy, that’s all”, I told him, trying to laugh away my sadness.  I felt awful for lying yet again.  I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did what I had to do to keep the evening afloat.  I feigned a cough into my napkin and glanced up at his reaction.

His brown eyes were focused squarely on me, and the worry that had left them was back again.  I could tell his mind was racing, searching for something to say.  “Oh…” he stammered.  “You can order something else if you want.”

I shook my head.  “It’s okay”, I told him.  As sweet an offer as it was, there was no way I about to indulge in a second plate of food, even if it would buy me some time to collect myself.  During moments like this I wondered where exactly his kindness ended.  It seemed to have no limits.  I’m almost certain he would have let me order every dish on that menu until I found something I liked.

“It’s delicious.  Really” I insisted, dropping the napkin from my mouth to reveal a forced smile.  “Just spicy is all.”

This seemed to quiet his nerves and he lifted another forkful of food from his plate.

I did my best to block the table next to us from my mind.  _Ted_ – I told myself.  _You’re here for Ted._

For a while it worked.  I regained my composure and continued to eat what was left of my meal.  But soon I found myself immersed in thought, which put Ted in the uncomfortable position of having to fill the silence between us.  He began to tell me about the fly that had come into the office at Kinnetik.  I didn’t bother letting him know that I had heard all about the fly from Brian earlier that evening.  Ted’s take on the tale was far more witty and detailed.  I knew he was doing his best to make me laugh, but I couldn’t focus.

I kept thinking about my own father and about the father sitting next to me and about how strikingly different they were.  I thought about how wonderful it would be to feel embarrassed by a father’s love, to have so much of it that any excess could simply be shrugged away.  I learned to cling to the tiny shreds of my father’s affection, knowing that it might never come again, but always hoping and praying that it would.  I thought about that hope, about how I had to let it go, because he was gone, and no amount of wishing or praying or clinging was going to bring him back. 

I awakened from my thoughts only to discover the edge of my fork clanking loudly against my porcelain dinner plate.  My hands were trembling.  

Suddenly, the world around me seemed unbearable.  The soft hum of chatter felt like trumpets in my ears, and the dim glow of candle light pierced my eyes like the afternoon sun.  The air felt too thick to breathe and I could swear there were tiny fists crushing the lungs in my chest.  

 At the precise moment I thought I might scream, I felt Ted’s hand touch mine, and I flinched with such force that I nearly knocked over a full glass of water sitting in front of me.  I could feel several pairs of eyes turn in my direction as I struggled to grab hold of the glass before it toppled over and soaked everything in its path.

 Flooded with embarrassment, I launched myself forward and put my elbows on the table.  I placed my hands like blinders on either side of my head and hid myself from the world and the world from me.   

Before either of us could say anything, the redheaded waitress returned to take our empty plates, seemingly unaware of the state I was in.  I moved my elbows from table and squished my trembling hands between my knees. 

I heard Ted politely decline her offer of dessert and ask for the bill, but I didn’t dare look up to see his reaction to my embarrassing display. 

The last thing I remember hearing was the waitress’ voice.

“The bill is already taken care of, sir”, she said.  “A Mr. Kinney asked that we charge it his account.  You’re free to go, if you’d like.”


	20. Where Kindness Ends

Once home, I foolishly held on to the hope that this night had all been some terrible dream; that I hadn’t lost it at the dinner table and that Ted hadn’t seen it.  But any hope I had was dashed when, after a shower and a quick change of clothes, I exited our bedroom to find Ted’s voice echoing from the kitchen into the hallway.  It took me a few seconds to realize that he was talking on the telephone.  I never meant to listen in, but the few words I heard caught my ears and froze my body squarely in its place.   

“It was a disaster, Em”, he said with a tremble in his voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Standing in the hallway, hidden from view, I let my head fall forward and I pressed it against the wall as the full weight of my guilt began to crush me.  Had I known I would cause him so much pain, I would have gladly rewound this evening to the very start, and plastered a gleaming smile on my face, no matter how much effort it took.

 “I know, I know”, I heard Ted say with a sniffle.  “Okay.  Thanks, Em.  Bye.”

I waited for the familiar click signalling the end of his call.

By now my limbs felt like cinderblocks, so heavy with guilt that I thought I might never move again.  But I couldn’t leave him standing in the kitchen alone, not after hearing the tremble in his voice.   I had always been drawn to his pain like I was being called into battle.  I saw it or heard it or felt it and all I wanted to do was rid him of it.  The fact that I had caused it only made this feeling stronger.

He heard me approaching, my bare feet squeaking slightly against the tile floor.  He turned his head just as I reached him, my hand coming to rest on top of his left shoulder.

“Hey” he said, brushing his pointer finger across the tip of his nose the way he always did when he was trying to keep his emotions at bay. 

I pressed my mouth to his shoulder blade and kept it there as I spoke.  “It was great, Ted.  You were great.”

I knew saying so would reveal that I had overhead at least some part of his conversation with Emmett, but I didn’t care.   I had to reassure him.  I had to do something to let him know the dinner wasn’t at all the disaster he believed it to be.

I rose and fell with him as he sighed heavily, my mouth still resting on his shoulder blade.

When he didn’t respond, I tapped on his back lightly with my fingers and said, “C’mon.  Why don’t you tell me some more about that fly?”

I waited patiently, hoping he would turn, greet me with a smile, and regale me with more witty tales from his day.

But when he turned around, his face was marked by such terrible sadness that I thought my knees might buckle beneath me.  His brows were furrowed, his cheeks were red, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.  He chewed at his bottom lip and his voice wobbled as he threw his hands in the air and said, “I’m just worried about you.”

And with that, my cinderblock limbs were as light as feathers and I lifted my hands up to touch him.

“I know you are.  I know” I whispered, taking his face in my hands.

I watched his chin tremble and quake as though the floodgates holding back his emotions might burst open at any second.

“But you don’t have to be, okay?” I told him, as I pressed my forehead to his. 

He sniffled loudly.  

“Okay?” I repeated, this time with more desperation.  “Don’t you worry about me.”

When my pleas failed to rid him of his sadness, I became so desperate that I reverted to my usual two-word means of comforting him.  I lifted my forehead from his, looked him in eyes, smiled as brightly as I possibly could, and told him in my most light-hearted voice that I was “fine”.

I hoped he would smile back at me and accept my lies as truth.

Instead, I watched all emotion drain from him, sadness along with everything else, leaving him with little more than a blank, hollow stare.  He curled his hands around my forearms, and pulled my palms from either side of his face.  It wasn’t a violent action. There was no anger or rage in it, only disappointment, and he let the weight of that disappointment pull me from him.

Then he looked right through me and nodded as if to shrug away my many deference and lies and false declarations.  I had never felt more ashamed in my life.  I had known him for many years, disappointed him many times, but I had never seen such a vacant, defeated look in his eyes.

He began to walk away from me when I turned toward him and called out his name.

 “Ted, I-“

I felt like I was screaming after him at the top of my lungs, but the voice that emerged from between my lips was little more than a choked out whisper.

He didn’t turn to face me.   He didn’t have a reaction of any kind.  He simply walked into our bedroom and shut the door behind him slowly, carefully, and with that same air of crushing disappointment. Disappointment that after all this time, I still couldn’t tell him my truth, no matter how much he longed to hear it.

I’m not sure what I would have said to him had he turned around to listen. 

_Ted, I’m sorry.  Ted, I love you.  Ted, I’m scared._

But it was too late.  Now all I could do was stare at this door, and hope that the man behind it hadn’t given up on me completely.  I wondered whether this was where his kindness ended, where his listening ears no longer cared to hear me, where his eyes no longer looked at me with sympathy, and where his shoulders were no longer there to catch my tears.

I was alone, and I deserved to be.


	21. An Open Book: Part One

I regretted everything the second I closed the bedroom door.  My goal had been to reach him, never to shut him out.  And yet, the moment he called my name, I ignored him and walked away.

Lying in our bed alone and swimming in guilt, I began to plan out what I would say to him when he joined me and turned in for the night.  My words were always better when I planned them.  I dreamed about how I would sit by his side, take his hand in mine, and say, “I want you to know, I’m not angry.  I’m just frustrated.  But it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.  And I’ll be here to hear to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”  And then maybe, through some miracle, he would open up to me.

Only my dream never came true.

The next time I saw Blake was in the morning.  I awoke at 7 am in a sleepy haze to find him already showered and dressed and ready to head out the door.  He was rinsing out his cereal bowl in the sink, while Gracie sat at the dinner table in her pyjamas with a bowl of her own. 

I wasn’t sure whether he had ever come to bed that night, but I knew that soon he would be gone for the day and I wouldn’t see him until after his father’s viewing.  So, when he brushed past me as I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, I grabbed hold of his arm and tried to deliver the speech I had prepared for him the night before.

“Blake” I said, “I just-I just want you know that I-“

Only I couldn’t remember any of it, which meant I turned into a bumbling, fumbling mess. “I just…what I want to say is…I…well, I can’t remember what I wanted to say.  But I was going to tell  you something last night and then I fell asleep like an idiot and now I’m rambling like an idiot and-“

He stopped me, put his hand on my wrist, and said, “You’re _not_ an idiot.”  

My heart wanted to burst.  He had every reason to be angry with me, to look me in the eyes, and say: “Yes.  Yes, you are an idiot.”  But like always, he chose to silence my self-loathing rather than agree with it.

“But I really have to go or I’m going to be late” he said, grabbing his keys from the top of our dresser.

I followed him as he hurried into the kitchen where Gracie was finishing her bowl of cereal.  He kissed her on the top of the head and said, “Bye, kiddo.  I’ll see you tonight.  You call me if you need anything.”

I stood there with my mouth hanging open, and then, just as he reached the door to leave, I yelled out: “And _you_ call _me_ if you need anything!”  He turned back and looked at me, smiling just long enough for me to see it.

When the door closed, I felt my stomach sink to my feet and all I wanted to do was press some sort of rewind button.  I wanted to go back and say everything I needed to say so that he could face his day knowing just how much I loved him.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon after, Jenny arrived to take Gracie while I headed off to Kinnetik.  I don’t think I’ve ever been more unproductive in my life.  I had no idea how Blake continued to go to work with everything that was weighing on his shoulders.  I had the lighter load to carry and even I felt like I was sinking.

After work, Gracie and I spent the evening together at the apartment while Jenny and Blake were at the viewing.

Once we were alone, Gracie went to her black duffle bag and for a moment I thought she was going to grab an elastic band and ask me to do her hair, but much to my relief she pulled out a book instead.  She seemed perfectly content to curl up on the sofa and read, quietly disappearing into the background as though she hoped not to disturb me.

I kept watching her though, from time to time, curious about the book that seemed to have her so captivated.

After a short while, my curiosity got the better of me.  I got up from the dinner table, where I had been working on some bookkeeping for Kinnetik and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

 “What are you reading?” I asked.

She looked up with a hint of surprise, suddenly becoming aware of the world around her. “Um, It’s called ‘What’s Eating Gilbert Grape’.”

“Oh…” I said awkwardly, as I tried to make sense of the strange sounding title.

She seemed to take note of my slightly befuddled expression and smiled.  “It’s…sort a weird title.  I know.”

“What’s it about?” I asked, letting curiosity continue to guide me.

“Um, well…it’s about this young guy and he’s…kind of sad…and he’s taking care of his family”, she told me.  “And his mom is…well…she doesn’t really leave the house, and his younger brother is mentally changed, and his dad…” 

She paused when she arrived at the paternal figure and closed the book in her lap.  “…his dad’s dead”, she said.

She smiled this cautious closed mouth smile, and for a moment neither of us knew what to say as the weight of her own father’s death seemed to loom there in the room above us both.

 “Sounds like quite the story” I said, cheerfully batting away that dark cloud as best I could.

“It is” she nodded, clutching the book in her lap.

“Don’t let me stop you from reading”, I told her.

“It’s okay.  I’ve read it before.  I just…felt like reading it again”, she said.

Another nervous smile graced her lips as she continued to clutch the book in her lap and look at it fondly.  As she did, I busied myself trying to think of other things that might provide a welcome distraction – television, cooking, music.

After a few minutes of pondering, I heard her voice peek out softly from her mouth.

“Ted?”

“Yes?” I said, immediately perking up at the sound of my name. 

“Um, I was just wondering…” she said.  “You brought some photos back from my house, didn’t you?”

I hadn’t forgotten about them, about the memories I had stowed in a black plastic bag at the back of our bedroom closet, getting them “out of the way” at Blake’s request.  Somehow I thought it would be years, maybe even decades, until they were sought out and uncovered.  I wasn’t sure Blake would ever want to see them, no matter how much time had passed, or how much healing had taken place.

But unlike her brother, Gracie seemed willing, albeit hesitant, to revisit the past.  As nervous as it made me, I wasn’t about to stand in her way.  She had a right to unearth those memories, even if Blake preferred they remain hidden.

“Yes. Yep.  I did”, I fumbled nervously.

“Could-could I see them?” she asked.  Her question was posed so carefully, as though she thought her small request was somehow as large as mountain.

“Um…sure.  If-if you’d like to.  I’ll go get them”, I told her.

My heart began to race as I got up from the sofa and made my way to the bedroom.  Once there, I dug through our tiny closet, finally finding my way to that black plastic garbage bag which lay hidden behind a pile of old clothing. 

I brought it into the kitchen and moved my paperwork aside before setting it at the center of the dinner table.

“Here they are” I said to Gracie, as she walked over and stood at the opposite end of the table.  I thought she would dive right in, but she seemed hesitant to touch it, like she wasn’t she should.

“Go ahead”, I told her. 

After a moments more hesitation, she opened the bag, which had been twisted shut at the top.  She pulled out a large red photo album from within it and sat it on the table.

Not wanting to invade her privacy in the same way I felt I had just invaded Blake’s, I took a step back from the table and said, “I’ll leave you to have a look.”  I was sure she would want some privacy as she looked through them, and was shocked when she took a seat at the table and said that I could do the same.

“You can sit down if you want.”

The tone in her voice made it sound more like a request than an offer.  For whatever reason, she seemed to want me there, though I’m almost certain it had less to do with me, and more to do with not wanting to be alone.

So, I sat quietly by her side and folded my hands in my lap, watching as she brushed a thin coat of dust from the surface of the album.  As she opened it, its spine creaked and cracked like an old door that hadn’t been touched or moved in years.

I expected to see faces, but the first photos that greeted my eyes weren’t of people, but of a garden – flowers of every colour of the rainbow growing in every direction the eye could see.

I stayed quiet and simply gazed at the photographs, waiting to hear whether or not Gracie would narrate her way through them.

When she stayed silent, I interjected with, “That’s a very pretty garden.”

She nodded and smiled.  “It is” she said, gazing at the photo warmly.  “I never got to see it when it was like this, but I’ve always loved these photos.”

“I can see why” I told her, and I really could.  It looked peaceful, beautiful, and full of life. “So, this is-this is your garden?” I asked.  “I mean, the garden at your house?”

“It was”, she said with a hesitant smile.  “It doesn’t look like this anymore.”

She flipped through a few more pages of the album.  Each was filled with close-ups of the many varieties of flowers growing in the space between the garden fences.

There wasn’t a single person in sight, until the flip of page revealed a photo of that same garden with a woman standing in the distance, her back to the camera, and her long blond hair shimmering in the sunlight.

Gracie leaned in, taking a closer look at the young woman in the photo.

“Is that one of your sisters?” I asked her.

 “No”, she said.  “That’s my mom.”

Before I had time to react, she had flipped to the next page - on it, a woman standing alone in a wedding dress holding a bouquet of flowers.  Had it not been for her long blonde hair, I would have never recognized the woman in it as her mother.  I had met Mary Wyzecki only briefly on the morning after her husband’s death, but I can say that she was a woman who seemed ravaged by time.  She was frail, yet she moved as if her body weighed a thousand pounds.  Her skin was marked by sun spots and deep lines, but still, her features were beautiful.  Above all, her blue eyes – big and round and striking – a feature she had passed on to each and every one of her children.

Looking at her as a young woman in a wedding gown filled me with happiness and sadness at the very same time.   I was stunned by how youthful she looked, so unmarked by time, so innocent, and so hopeful for what the future might bring.

“There’s Blake”, Gracie interjected with a bashful smile.  “Sort-sort of.”

I had been so focused on comparing the past with the present, that I hadn’t noticed her mother’s protruding belly.  Only then did I realize what Gracie was trying to show me.

I let my fingers hover just over her rounded middle.  “Really?” I asked, almost unconsciously, my eyes widening at the incredible sight before me.

She smiled at me and nodded.  “Here” she said, careful not to knock my hovering fingers as she flipped to the next page. “You can actually see him in this one.”

I was totally unprepared for what I was about to see and I couldn’t help but clutch my chest when my eyes were greeted by a photo of a newborn Blake sleeping in his mother’s arms, her wrists still wrapped in hospital bands as she held him close.

A wave of emotion overtook me and tears began to form in my eyes.  “Sorry”, I said with an embarrassed laugh.

Then, in much the same way her brother would have, she responded with, “It’s-it’s okay.  Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m guessing he never showed you this”, she added.

I shook my head while my eyes remained locked on the photograph.  I stared and stared until Gracie asked, “Do you mind if I turn the page, or-?”

“Sorry.  Sure, sure.  G-go, ahead” I fumbled, embarrassed once again by just how long I had been transfixed. 

On the following page, another treasure – Blake as a toddler – his head tilted up toward the camera, a big goofy grin on his face, his eyes nearly pressed closed by the raised apples of his cheeks.

“This one always makes me laugh” Gracie said, letting out a small chuckle.

I chuckled along with her and wiped away a tear that had fallen to my cheek.  “He still makes that face sometimes”, I told her as I smiled to myself.

As I looked at the photo and at that goofy grin I loved so much, I couldn’t help but ask, “What was he like?  Back-Back then, I mean.”

“Well, I-I didn’t really know him back then”, she admitted bashfully.  “He was thirteen when I was born.”

“Right” I said, feeling silly for having asked.  Gracie was an old soul, wise beyond her years, so much so that I would often forget just how young she really was. 

I was surprised and thrilled when her answer to my question didn’t stop there.

“But when I was young, he was…playful”, she said.  He was really fun.  He used to have tea parties with me and my imaginary friends.  And sometimes he’d pretend he was a horse and I’d ride around on his back.  He spent more time with me than anybody else did” she told me, smiling to herself like I had moments earlier.

“He was a really hard worker too”, she carried on.  “He used to work at this grocery store after school, this tiny little place – um, Sam’s Grocery – that’s it.  And then he’d come home and he’d make dinner for all of us and he’d do chores.  He was always really responsible; too responsible for someone his age.” 

She paused, sighed for moment, and pushed her glasses atop the bridge of her nose.  “I guess…I guess I just remember that he always tried to make sure everyone was okay.  Even when he wasn’t.”

I had never heard a more accurate or more heartbreaking description of him. 

“After he left…” she said. “I-I used to beg to go into that grocery store every time we passed it, just so I could see if he was there.  He never was.”   

She smiled at me and swallowed her sadness.

“You must have really missed him”, I said.  It was a feeling I knew all too well.

“I did”, she nodded.  “I mean, I was really angry at him for a long time.  I didn’t understand how he could just leave.  I thought it meant he didn’t love us.  But now I understand it.  I’m almost the same age he was then and I’d do anything to escape that place.”

She swallowed again, then looked up, and stared off into the distance as if she was caught in some sort of trance.  After take a deep breath and exhaling loudly, she said, “I’ve had such a nice time here.  I can breathe.”

Something about the way she said it haunted me.  I never wanted to imagine a world in which a girl as young and bright as she was felt like she couldn’t breathe.  She deserved to have nice times, and to have only nice times for the rest of her life.  I only wished the nice times could erase the cruel ones.

“Sorry. I’m rambling” she said bashfully, as she tucked a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear.  “I don’t usually do that.”

“Ramble all you want”, I told her.  As heartbreaking as her words were, I could have listened to her forever.  She was opening up door after door to a world I had been longing to know for years.

“Do you mind if I keep flipping?” she asked, still visibly embarrassed my how much she had revealed.

“No, no”, I told her.

It was strange.  The further forward we travelled in time, the more distant the photographs became.  There were photos of her other siblings and of Blake, but they never seemed to be the center of attention.  It was as though they just happened to be there, somewhere in the background, while life carried on around them.  Each time Gracie pointed out one of her siblings, they had their back to the camera, or they were playing in the distance, or they were lost amongst a group of people.

Finally, I asked a question that had been weighing on my mind for some time. “Where are you?”

I regretted my question as soon as she answered it.

“Oh…there won’t be any of me in here”, she told me.  “I was born after Adam died and they…well, they stopped taking pictures after that, so…”

She was smiling when she said it, but her words told a painful story; a story about being forgotten.  I had never stopped to consider that she had been born into a broken family, a family that, from her very first moments, seemed to feel they no longer had any happiness worth capturing.

She flipped to the next page of the album and on it was a picture of her father – one of only a few appearances he made - sitting in a brown recliner in front of a small television set.  A few feet in front of him sat a young boy in a blue and white stripped t-shirt, cross-legged, staring at the screen.

I don’t know why, but I thought the boy in photograph had to be Adam – Blake’s younger brother, the boy whose death seemed to have shattered his entire family.

I wasn’t sure whether I should even utter his name, but I had to ask, “Is this…is this Adam?” I said, pointing to the young boy.  It couldn’t be Blake, I thought.  The idea of him and his father sitting so calmly and so closely to one another was almost impossible to fathom.

“No, no”, she assured me.  “That’s Blake.  Adam won’t be in here either.”

I should have known better.  It seemed so like the Wyzecki family to burry any memories that caused them pain.

She pointed to a similar photo on the opposing page – everything in it was the same except for the direction the boy was facing. 

“He’s turned around in this one”, she said.  “You can see his face.”

I leaned in to take a closer look as she began to lift the plastic cover from the surface of the page.  She freed the photo and handed it to me.  Sure enough, there was Blake.  He had this small but incredibly earnest smile on his face as he gazed back at his father.  More incredible though, was the physical contact between them the photograph had captured.  On the top of Blake’s head was his father’s hand, resting there as he watched television.  It was the first time I had ever seen the man express any warmth toward his son; any physical affection or gentleness whatsoever. 

Gracie and I looked at the photograph together silently as I held it in my hands, and before long a distinct air of sadness flooded the room.

Gracie was the first to speak.  Still gazing at the photo in my hands, she said, “You must think I’m a pretty terrible person for not going to the viewing.”

I was so taken aback by her words that it took me a moment to answer her.  “No.  Not at all” I said, turning and watching her closely.

“Do you think Blake thinks I am?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Definitely not” I told her, shaking my head.  Lately, I felt like I had little insight into Blake’s thoughts, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never, ever think of his sister as anything less than an intelligent, brave, sweet young girl. 

“He told me he didn’t want to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do” I said, as I smiled a gentle closed mouthed smile and hoped it would comfort her.

She lowered her head for a moment, then raised it, and asked, “How is he?”

I could sense the worry in her voice and in her eyes. 

“He’s…” I paused, searching for the right words.  “It’s a tough time for him”, I admitted.  I didn’t want to lie to her.  She was too smart for that, and I was too terrible of an actor to pull it off.  “It’s a tough time for both of you, I’m sure.  But he’s strong.  He’s the strongest person I know.”

She seemed as unconvinced as I was by my answer. 

“He doesn’t really talk to me anymore”, she said.  “I mean, he talks to me.  He asks me things, but he doesn’t really _say_ anything.”

“I know what you mean”, I told her.  For days, the only words I could get from him were pleasantries; simple comments about work or the weather.  He would ask me how I was, but never dared to answer his own question.

Still, I tried to remain positive for Gracie.  “I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to worry about him”, I told her.

“He tells me that all the time” she said, shrugging her shoulders in a way that told me her brother’s attempt to rid her of concern for him hadn’t worked. 

“Doesn’t stop you from worrying though, does it?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Me either”, I told her.  I hadn’t stopped worrying about him all day; checking my cell phone for messages and texts, hoping he wasn’t angry with me, and hoping he would reach out if he needed to. 

Only moments after Gracie and I revealed our mutual worries, the man we both loved walked through the door.


End file.
